SONGS 


FROM  A 


WATCH-TOWER 


Richsrd  H*ye*  McCartney 


GIFT   OF 


SONGS  FROM 
A  WATCH-TOWER 


"Watchman,  what  of  the  night f" 

"Watch,  for  ye  know  not  The  Hour  when  in  His  Glory 
The  Son  of  Man  Cometh.'' 

Jehovah  "shall  arise  and  have  mercy  upon  Zion,  for  the 
time  to  favor,  yea,  the  Set  Time  Is  Come." 


BY 

RICHARD  HAYES  McCARTNEY 

Author   of  "That  Jew,"   "The   City   of   Antichrist"    "The   Antichrist" 

"Songs  in  the  Waiting,"  "The  Imperial,"   "An   Unclean 

Spirit"  "The  Whip  of  God"  etc. 


Published  by 

FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 

CHICAGO  AND  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  19 19,  by 
FRANCES  SWEETMAN  HAYES  MCCARTNEY  MORSE 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Laura .  I 

The  Desirable  One .  2 

America's  Answer 4 

Tho  a  Hundred  Thousand  Die 10 

The  Wolf  to  the  Sheep-Dam 12 

Verdun — Victory 14 

"They  Shall  Not  Pass" 15 

Verdun       17 

A  Golden  Song 19 

Bartimeus 19 

He  Walks  the  Earth  Once  More 23 

Beauty 25 

Waters       . 26 

A  Land  of  Sweet  Desire 27 

The  Legend  of  My  Ring 29 

Lansdowne 33 

Seventy  Times  Seven 36 

The  People  Who  Live  on  the  Top  of  the  Hill     .  37 

The  House  of  Trouble  and  Care 39 

A  Song  of  Hope 40 

False  Democracy 42 

Grace  Only 44 

The  Flag  of  David 45 

Tho'  I  a  Gentile 47 

The  Life  of  a  Song 50 

On  Reading  Arnold's  Poem  on  Old  Age     ...  56 

A  Million  Cripples  in  Europe 57 

Rama .  59 

,388499 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  World  Gone  Mad 61 

What  Is  the  Grave  ? 62 

The  First  Adventurers 64 

The  Home  for  Evermore 66 

Vast  Ignorance 66 

A  German  Mother 69 

Russia 71 

At  the  Gate  Called  Beautiful 73 

My  Meditation  of  Him  Shall  Be  Sweet    ....  74 

The  Blind  Wise  Men 75 

Behold  in  Clouds  of  Glory 77 

You  Need  Not  Ask  the  Reason  Why    ....  78 

A  Cup  of  Cold  Water 82 

The  Birth  of  Song 82 

The  Work  of  Jehovah 83 

The  Good  News  from  Nazareth 84 

ToPatric 85 

The  New  God  "Democracy" 86 

The  Dead  Are  Not  Asleep 88 

Wonderful  People 89 

A  Whispered  Song 91 

What  Manner  of  Man  Is  This? 92 

Met  Him 94 

The  Crown  Prince's  Request 95 

Laura 99 

The  Death  Angel  Passeth  By 100 

Waiting — Watching 100 

A  Royal   Friend 101 

Jehovah's  "Little  Moment" 102 

The  Oath       104 

A  Wish 106 

To    N.    N 107 

Song  of  a  Loiterer 108 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Godhead  of  Man 109 

The  Virgin  Birth .     .     .  in 

The  Way  to  Paradise 112 

Glory 115 

That  One  Day 116 

Ground  Arms 118 

Master  of  the  Beautiful 119 

Harvest  Time 121 

Mandel  Hall       122 

Chicago  Art  Gallery 124 

A  Soldier's  Cemetery  in  the  Forest 126 

The  Men  at  the  Guns 128 

Blessed  Are  the  Meek 130 

Certainty 133 

My  Foundation       134 

Bountiful  Giver 134 

A  Scorned  Messenger 135 

A  Storm  Kin 136 

Beauty 138 

On  Reading  Mr.  Mud 138 

The   Last   Farthing 140 

A  Momentous  Hour 141 

England 144 

The  City  of  Jehovah 146 

Conquered  by  the  Hun ! 149 


LAURA 

Lilacs,  Lilacs,  Lilacs,  in  your  pale  pink  glory 
Whispering  to  my  mind  such  a  magic  story: 
Sitting  'neath  your  branches  there  such  a  little  maid, 
Such  a  gentle  Lady,  coy,  timid,  half  afraid, 
Young  eyes  looking  up  at  me,  eyes  of  tender  gray, 
Precious  still  in  mine  eyes  as  on  far  yesterday. 

Lilacs,  Lilacs,  Lilacs,  lo,  coming  there  by  stealth 
'Neath  lilac  branches  finding  treasure  trove  of  wealth, 
Such  slight,  little  maiden,  with  her  long  locks  of  gold 
Each  hair  more  than  a  guinea's  worth — to  heart  wealth 

untold — 

Gray  eyes  lighting  up  my  soul  in  a  gracious  way — 
Now  as  truthful,  sweet,  and  rare  as  on  yesterday. 

Lilacs,  Lilacs,  Lilacs,  ah,  I  can  ne'er  forget 
That  sweet  time  of  meeting — my  fancy  holds  it  yet — 
'Tis  my  Winter's  sunshine — and  rainbow  in  my  tears — 
Blessing  of  the  Summer  rain  through  the  arid  years — 
Sweet  to  memory  ever  whisper  first  few  hours 
Spent  beside  the  lilacs  there,  'mid  the  garden  flowers: 
'Tis  Lilac  times  in  Winter — every  passing  year — 
Little  maiden,  Love,  and  Wife,  smiling  still  is  near, 
Ever  tender  trust  and  hope  in  the  eyes  of  gray 
First  seen  'neath  the  lilac's  branch  in  far  yesterday. 

Lilacs,  Lilacs,  Lilacs,  ah,  soon  to  her  and  me 

Dawns  the  better  lilac  time  when  The  King  we  see 

In  the  Renovated  Earth,  in  that  golden  year, 

In  the  rare  bewitching  breath  of  pure  atmosphere 

Lilacs  then  shall  ever  bloom — never  shall  decay 

Rarer  colors,  sweeter  smell,  than  that  first  yesterday. 


SONGS  FROM   A  WATCH  TOWER 


THE  DESIRABLE  ONE 

Behold,  He  Comes !    The  Conqueror  comes  near, 
The  Earth  has  waited  long,  for  many  a  year, 
That  He,  The  Glorious,  should  at  last  appear. 

Lo,  curse  on  all  Creation  many  centuries — 
Surely  a  stricken  world  the  gazer  sees — 
And  stalketh  Death  o'er  all  the  lands  and  seas. 

A  very  weary  waiting — for  the  wrong 
Was  ever  brazen,  using  rod  and  thong — 
More  of  heart  breaking  sigh,  than  merry  song. 

Lo,  Poverty  stalks  boldly  o'er  the  land, 
And  tho  the  earth  is  rich — oppression's  hand 
Was  heavy  in  its  mandate  and  command. 

But,  lo,  He  Comes !    The  Mighty  One  draws  nigh- 
Then  we  shall  hear  no  more  the  widow's  cry — 
Nor  see  the  laughing  babe  death  stricken,  die. 

No  more  of  Poverty — but  ample  bread — 
The  animals  with  winnowed  wheat  be  fed — 
No  man  on  Earth  but  has  a  home — and  bed. 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

And  then  among  the  Nations  no  distrust — 
In  minds  of  men  no  more  Imperial  lust — 
No  hapless  nations  stricken  to  the  dust. 

Then  labor  shall  cast  off  all  rasping  chains — 
No  labor  then  shall  breed  of  woes  and  pains— r 
Labor  at  last  full  competency  gains. 

Lo,  then  no  fearing  of  a  dread  tomorrow — 

Anticipation  of  a  grief,  a  sorrow, 

And  not  a  man  of  other  man  need  borrow. 

A  pure  Democracy  betwixt  man  and  man — 
No  Imperialistic,  avaricious  plan — 
Each  man  doing  for  another  what  he  can. 

And  then  no  ploughing — scattering  of  seed — 
Where  constant  watching,  giving  anxious  heed, 
If  scant  the  harvest,  or  rich  crops  the  yield. 

The  seasons  certain — nature  willing  maid 
Her  smile  o'er  all  the  earth  shall  be  displayed, 
And  she  will  laugh  to  give  the  human  aid. 

No  Nation's  battle  flags  shall  be  unfurl'd — 

No  cannons  scream,  no  gas  shells  then  be  hurl'd— 

But  Peace — Peace  absolute  o'er  all  the  world. 

And  man  and  woman  then  be  mated  well — 
None  shall  in  rented  house  or  hovel  dwell — 
None  shall  a  service  on  a  man  compel. 

Peace — Plenty — and  for  all  pure  happiness — 
The  King  be  all  Omnipotent — not  less — 
And  His  sole  aim  Humanity  to  bless. 

3 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Surely,  and  certainly,  He  shall  appear, 
O  waiting  heart,  be  strong,  without  a  fear, 
Time  of  Delivery  is  almost  here. 

In  all  the  Universe  but  ONE  alone 

By  whom  the  Hosts  of  Evil  overthrown — 

And  HE  shall  sit — The  Priest  King  on  Earth's  throne. 

AMERICA'S  ANSWER 

O  Soul,  have  you  heard  of  the  trumpet  tone  note 
Over  plains,  o'er  canyons,  o'er  mountains  to  float, 
The  challenge  of  war  from  our  President's  throat. 

The  free  men  have  heard  it  in  factory  and  mine, 
The  brawn  forest  men  heard  it  'neath  cypress  and  pine, 
The  husbandmen  heard  it  when  pruning  the  vine. 

The   workshop — the  warehouse — the  great  and  the 

small — 

The  clerk  in  the  counting  house — builder  of  wall — 
The  once  lazy  rich  one,  stand  up  at  the  call. 

The  student  in  colleges  threw  down  text  book, 
The  cloisters  of  learning  the  student  forsook — 
With  flash  in  the  eye  and  determined  the  look. 

And  men  past  their  prime  felt  like  cursing  their  age, 
And  mothers  and  maidens  at  heart  felt  a  rage 
That  they  were  but  women,  a  man  camouflage. 

For  all  ears  had  been  tingling  with  news  from  afar — 
The  rush  of  battalions,  the  reeking  of  war, 
For  the  Huns  had  gone  forth  under  Odin  and  Tor ! 

4 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Lo,  little  babes  butchered — (as  carr'on  had  been) 
And  maidenhood  ravished  by  beasts  all  obscene — 
And  wives  all  befouled  that  once  were  sweet,  clean. 

Burned  village,  and  hamlet,  and  town  and  city — 
Triumphant  the  fiends  singing  exulting  ditty — 
All,  all  desecrated  without  thought  of  pity. 

Hun  chemists  conceiving  most  horrible  things, 
Giving  Death  more  venomous,  horrible  stings, 
Thus  giving  to  Agony  gas  cursing  rings. 

Men  talk  of  Hell's  pit  as  source  of  all  ills, 

But  faint  are  such  torments  when  Maniac  wills — 

For  this  Prussian  the  great  cup  of  wickedness  fills. 

The  ears  are  a  tingle  when  few  horrors  told 

If  all  horrors  known — 'twould  as  lava  had  rolled 

From  volcano  to  crush  out  from  field,  and  from  fold. 

The  misery  piled  on  babes,  women  and  men 
To  recount,  words  surely  all  faint  to  begin — 
Demons'  wickedness  white  to  the  Hun's  foulest  sin. 

The  Huns  with  their  camouflage  put  us  to  sleep, 
Their  wolf-wether  led  us  as  if  we  were  sheep, 
For  their  venomous  lying  was  crafty  and  deep. 

For  years  we  were  slothful,  and  lolled  at  our  ease, 
Well  fed,  and  well  clad,  we  did  as  we  please, 
We  grew  fat,  and  heart  bloated  from  drinking  Hun's 
lees. 

Lo,  we  listened  to  warnings  of  Roosevelt  with  sneers — 
We  deemed  him  as  vicious  to  harp  on  our  fears — 
Each  fool-sage  rejected  his  counsel  for  years ! 

5  . 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

And  a  Pacific  host — such  a  clamorous  crowd — 

That  for  peace  under  Juggernaut's  car  would  have 

bowed — 
And  Bryan,  and  Jordan,  in  Braying  waxed  loud. 

The  false  prophet — with  less  sense  than  Balaam's  Ass : 

"If  such  a  dire  madness  as  war  came  to  pass 

A  million  of  farmers  would  spring  from  the  grass : 

A  million  of  men  would  arise  in  their  might 

With  shot  guns  and  broom  sticks,  all  foe  men  to  fight — 

And  foemen  evanish  e'er  drooped  down  the  night." 

With  Pacific  howling,  and  Huns  cunning  brain, 
It  was  hard  for  the  patriots  hearing  to  gain — 
'Til  President's  voice  rang  clearly  and  plain. 

Then  America  answered  as  never  before 
From  Atlantic  wild  waste  to  Pacific  shore, 
From  Canada's  line  to  Caribbee's  roar. 

Then  sprang  up  as  one — the  millions  of  men — 
In  brain  and  in  heart  the  red  blood  rushed  in — 
It  was  Victory  or  Death— The  Willing  to  Win ! 

Lo,  America  roused  from  her  gold  loving  trance, 
A  heat  in  the  heart,  and  cold  light  in  eye  glance — 
For  sweet  to  their  nostrils  the  old  lilies  of  France ! 

"Lafayette !  we  are  coming !  our  debt  to  repay, 
We  are  mustering  our  best  for  the  battle  array, 
We  ask  of  your  pardon  for  our  long  delay ! 

Lo,  we  pledge  you  our  honor,  our  bravest,  our  best, 
From  the  North  to  the  South,  from  East  and  West, 
From  Fields,  from  Savannas,  and  from  Mountain  crest. 

6 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

We  pledge  thee  not  now  but  with  froth  from  the  lips — 
Our  hand  is  flung  out,  and  you'll  find  that  it  grips, 
We  shall  bridge  the  Atlantic  with  thousands  of  ships. 

Braggadocio  is  over — and  silent  all  boast — 
France !  here  on  our  feet,  we  stand  for  a  toast, 
We  pledge  you  our  money — of  Brave  Boys  a  host ! 

We  go  not  in  sorrow,  we  go  not  in  tears, 
We  go  without  heart  throb  of  cowardly  fears, 
From  our  souls  have  fallen  incumbrance  of  years. 

Your  cry,  France !  has  reached  us,  and  we  are  awake, 
All  ease  and  all  comfort  from  shoulders  we  shake, 
Our  hearts  have  been  rent  by  this  Hunnish  hell  quake. 

We  are  coming,  O,  France !  as  a  giant  may  come 
With  flag,  and  with  banner,  with  bugle,  and  drum, 
Two  million  of  "Boys,"  none  cowards,  none  grum. 

With  cannon  all  sizes,  and  many,  and  trim, 
With  rifles,  and  bayonets,  and  munitions  grim, 
(Once  failed  in  our  air  planes)  but  soon  will  have  them ! 

Our  farmers  will  plough  deep,  will  seed,  and  will  reap — 
Our  slaughter  of  millions — hogs,  cattle,  and  sheep, 
Your  Army  and  People  from  famine  will  keep. 

The  Huns  never  dreamed  of  red  blood  in  the  vein, 
They  thought  that  your  cry  for  our  help  was  in  vain 
That  we  cared  more  for  gold  than  for  millions  slain. 

They  thought  they  were  masters,  and  we  were  the 

slaves, 

We  awake — they  now  prove  but  cowardly  knaves, 
If  they  are  not  silent,  will  fill  felon  graves. 

7 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

You  will  see  that  Our  Boys  are  varied  of  face — 
See  thousand  of  Germans  in  gallantry  pace — 
Will  tell  of  their  hatred  to  all  Prussian  Race ! 

This  mixture  of  Blood  which  flows  in  our  veins 
Of  German,  of  English,  of  Poles,  and  of  Danes, 
Has  no  globular  drop  of  cowardly  stains." 

"We  are  coming,  O  Kaiser,  to  right  of  thy  wrong, 
To  banish  forever  thy  whip  lash  and  thong, 
To  share  our  own  Freedom  all  people  among. 

We  are  coming,  O  Kaiser,  thy  slave  men  to  meet, 
To  reel  back  thy  minions  with  fast  fleeing  feet, 
To  strike  your  mouth  for  taunting  you  flung  in  our 
teeth. 

We  come  'not  for  plunder,  nor  rapine,  nor  gold, 
Nor  for  land,  nor  for  conquest  of  Nations  untold — 
For  heart  of  a  Free  Man  fs  ne'er  bought,  nor  sold. 

Thy  Dreaming,  O  Kaiser,  a  dream  that  was  vast — 
You  would  blaze  way  from  Berlin  (of  winterish  blast) 
To  where  India  her  riches  in  thy  coffers  cast. 

Dream,  glittering  splendor  of  kingdoms  were  thine, 
Old  England  her  fleet  and  Possessions  resign, 
Lo,  Egypt  and  Syria  no  bordering  line. 

For  America's  riches  of  gold,  mine  and  field, 
Submit  of  their  plenty,  to  thy  wantonness  yield — 
'The   whole   World    Conquered!"   embossed   on   thy 
shield. 

8 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

But,  Kaiser,  how  futile  is  now  all  thy  dreaming — 
Your  spy-dom,  your  treacherous,  underhand  schem- 
ing— 
Destruction  and  Ruin  bale  lights  on  thee  gleaming. 

Dreams !    Vastness  of  glory — and  grand  majesty — 
Thy  six  cubs  be  reigning  as  cubs  under  thee — 
You  cherished  their  splendor  from  their  infancy : 

You  guarded  and  cherished — the  while  like  to  cattle 

Your  millions  of  slaves  slain  by  famine  and  battle 

At  safe  distance  your  cubs  heard  cannon's  faint  rattle. 

Six  cubs  in  safe  keeping — while  millions  were  slain — 
They  never  had  cold  meats,  nor  wounding,  nor  pain. 
Lo,  the  Dreams  of  their  Kingdoms  are  foolishly  vain ! 

Brutes !    Hindenburg,  Ludendorf ,  butchers  of  men ! 

All  easy  'gainst  unarmed  Russians  to  win 

For  your  gold  had  corrupted  their  Empress  to  sin. 

But,  lo,  when  brutes  Hindenburg,  Ludendorf,  came 
To  the  west  with  their  devilish  gas,  and  fire  flame, 
Then  their  manifold  boasting  darkened  with  shame! 

"We  shall  dine  in  Paris  on  April  the  first !" 

But  now  burned  the  roast,  and  now  sodden  pie  crust, 

Evanished  the  sacking,  the  plunder,  the  lust ! 

We  now  laugh  to  scorn  your  vanity  boast 

Of  murdering  babies  and  men  at  our  coast — 

"Our  Boys"  to  go  "over"  like  Kitchener's  host. 

In  spite  of  thy  murderous,  piratical  scheming 
Our  warships  are  fretting  the  sky  in  flag  gleaming — 
"Our  Boys"  like  a  torrent  across  the  sea  streaming. 

9 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Two  million  of  "Our  Boys"  have  sailed  o'er  the  Sea! 
Ready  five  million  more  if  danger  we  see — 
Wealth  of  food  and  material  unlimited  be. 

O  Kaiser,  as  thou  hast  forsaken  the  Christ, 

With  Odin  and  Satan  have  holden  fell  tryst, 

As  sure  as  the  Sun  in  the  heaven  doth  shine 

Defeat  and  Destruction  most  surely  be  thine ! 

The  Scorned  Jehovah  shall  laugh  in  thy  face ! 

And  Servants  forever  thy  fell  Prussian  race ! 

And  Thou,  and  Thy  Six  Sons  shall  refugees  be, 

And  followed  their  footsteps  fell  calamity — 

In  Book  that  thou  flouted  this  Truth  Stands  profound : 

"The  Seed  of  the  Wicked  shall  not  be  renowned!" 

THO  A  HUNDRED  THOUSAND  DIE 

"Where  they  will  be  shelved  without  hurting  their  feel- 
ings."    (From  Chicago  Tribune.) 

Tis  a  day  of  Great  Revealings, 
Not  of  Graft,  nor  Army  Stealings, 
But  Incompetence  in  dealings — 
But  Bishop's  crook,  and  Blunt,  have  Feelings — 
Tho  a  Hundred  Thousand  Die ! 

'Tis  a  day  of  cannon  thunder, 
With  the  World  torn  asunder, 
With  Five  Millions  lying  under 
Mud  and  Mire  from  rush  of  battle, 
Brave  men  slaughtered  as  if  cattle — 
But  above  its  roar  and  rattle 
Lo,  Incompetency  flourished — 
Lo,  Incompetency  nourished — 
10 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

But  we  must  not  hurt  their  feelings — 
So,  O  Public,  stop  thy  squealings — 
Tho  a  Hundred  Thousand  die ! 

Lo,  Incompetence  may  dally 
Drinking  tea  with  Jane  and  Sally — 
Or  before  the  glass  parading 
Rigged  out  in  gold  fancy  braiding, 
Or  in  public  eye  parading — 
(Thus  the  Huns  of  Hell  are  aiding,) 
Toying  with  their  swords  gold  mounted, 
Tho  each  day  a  thousand  counted 
"Dead  or  missing" — but  Hush  Squealings 
For  we  must  not  hurt  their  feelings 

Tho  a  Hundred  Thousand  Die ! 

Lo,  Incompetence  were  resting 
While  our  many  boys  were  breasting 
Cold  and  nakedness — and  the  Huns 
Laughing  at  our  borrowed  guns — 
Thus  we  had  no  power  in  saving 
Men  who  fought  in  madness  braving 
Huns,  who  gloried  in  the  slaughter 
Of  the  Mother,  babe  and  daughter, 
Making  maidens — well,  no  matter — 
Let  Incompetence  wax  fatter — 
Well,  no  matter  such  revealings — 
For  we  dare  not  hurt  their  feelings 

Tho  a  Hundred  Thousand  Die ! 

If  the  common  men  are  slackers 
Sent  to  prison — water — crackers — 
Lo,  we  brand  them  with  disgracing — 
They  through  life  contempt  are  facing — 
But  Incompetence  must  flourish — 
ii 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

We  Incompetence  must  nourish — 
And  in  spite  of  Damned  Revealings 
We  must  never  hurt  their  feelings 
If  a  Hundred  Thousand  Die! 

Lo,  now  who  will  be  Denier 
If  Incompetence  "kicked  higher," 
If  their  Powers  have  more  inflation 
Then  more  of  a  sure  Damnation 
To  the  Army  and  the  Nation, 
Grimmer  numbers  be  increasing, 
Our  boys  murdered  without  ceasing ; 
For  God's  sake  send  such  men  flying 
Any  power  to  them  denying! 
Heed  not  protest,  and  friends'  squealing, 
Trample  on  their  pride  and  feeling 
So  Our  Millions  Cannot  Die! 

THE  WOLF  TO  THE  SHEEP-DAM 
A  Parable 

Said  the  wolf  to  sheep-dam :    "I  am  seeking  my  whelp 
That  has  strayed  from  my  care,  I'm  seeking  your  help, 
A  wee  helpless  cub  to  be  lost  in  wood  scrub — 
Oh,  surely,  to  find  him  your  aid  will  not  snub. 
Let  me  into  your  fold — perchance,  from  the  cold 
He  has  strayed  to  your  place,  for  warm  your  wold, 
In  some  corner  he  lies — perchance,  near  your  lamb ; 
Oh,  see  what  a  desolate  Mother  I  am, 
My  grief  all  the  fierceness  of  nature  has  quelled, 
And  only  my  longing  of  heart  hath  compelled 
In  seeking  my  wee  cub — oh,  surely  to  you 
The  heart  of  a  mother  is  tender  and  true, 
Let  me  look  and  see  if  my  wee  cub  is  here — 

12 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

I  swear  you  will  never  have  cause  for  a  fear. 

O,  thanks  to  thee,  Dam — to  let  me  look  around — 

For  if  he  is  here  he'll  all  quickly  be  found  : 

Is  that  your  young  lamb,  that  wee,  shapely  one  there? 

I  never  saw  juicier  lamb  I  declare, 

Most  fit  for  a  King  to  have  at  his  table ! 

Forgive  me,  so  saying,  for  scarce  am  I  able 

So  great  is  my  grief — my  thoughts  are  a  jumble — 

The  best  of  Repenters  oft'  times  will  stumble — 

I'm  sure  that  no  Mother  of  thy  like  hath  bore 

So  graceful  a  lamb — so  my  longing  the  more 

To  adopt  such  a  lamb,  all  surely  'twould  make 

A  Christian  of  me,  and  I  soon  would  partake 

Of  its  delicate  feelings — so  meek  would  be — 

A  change  of  my  nature  you'd  ever  more  see. 

Come,  child  of  adoption !    Dam,  what  do  you  say  ? 

You  have  but  one  young  lamb  that  with  you  must  stay, 

Me  send  away  empty — so  broken  of  heart — 

That  I,  cub  bereft — must  all  lonely  depart. 

What  say  you  vile  Sheep  ?    'Tis  easy  beholden 
That  this  is  my  whelp  you've  brazenly  stolen, 
And  covered  his  hair  with  a  sheepskin  to  hide — 
You  have  murdered  a  sheep  to  put  my  whelp  inside — • 
And  this  to  defraud  me,  to  steal,  and  to  cheat, 
You  have  caused  me  to  think  my  own  whelp  good  meat. 
A  lie  I  am  telling!  well,  what  if  it  is? 
The  wolf  now  is  claiming — and  surely  'tis  his 
Who  has  might  for  the  taking— out  of  my  way 
The  lamb  is  most  tender — the  lamb  is  my  prey — 
If  you  are  so  silly  a  fierce  wolf  to  trust 
You  surely  repentant  should  feed  on  stone  crust : 
Oh,  hush,  silly  lambkin,  and  make  not  with  wild  bleat, 
You're  surely  most  tender  for  my  cubs  to  eat. 

13 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

VERDUN— VICTORY 
(Written  when  the  false  news  came,  "Verdun  is  taken") 

On  to  Verdun — yon  fort  clad  knoll — • 

JTis  only  a  little  way — 
But  Death  demands  a  final  toll — 

A  million  of  men  must  pay! 
Lo,  they  came  to  a  heap  of  stones 

Shouting,  "Verdun — Victory !" 
But  all  they  found  were  dead  men's  bones 

Grim,  ghastly  withal  to  see. 
For  the  way  they  had  come  was  rough — 

And  they  made  it  rougher  still — 
Only  a  heap  of  stones  on  a  bluff — 

A  weird  grave  yard  on  a  hill ! 
Alas,  for  every  inch  of  way 

A  young  life  the  price  they  paid — 
Strength,  youth,  and  Beauty  stamped  in  clay 

On  each  inch  a  young  life  laid ! 
Lo,  a  million  of  souls  went  out 

From  flesh  mass  that  once  were  men — 
The  prayer,  the  curse  from  the  drawn  mouth, 

Still  echoes  in  wood  and  glen. 
Saved  labor  in  digging  deep  trench 

To  throw  the  carcass  therein, 
The  shrapnel,  and  ball  had  a  clench — 

Plowed  grave  for  a  million  men ! 
'Twas  victory  grand  and  sweeping — 

And  the  chant  of  praise  rang  high — 
Praise  drowning  the  widow's  weeping — 

None  heard  of  the  orphan's  cry ! 
Now  let  there  be  great  rejoicing, 

Flags  float  o'er  the  turrets  high ; 
Tis  shame  that  some  are  voicing — 
14 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

"Was  it  worth  that  million  die  ?" 
So  mid  battle  roar  and  rumble, 

Curse,  prayer,  and  a  million  moans, 
Tis  shame  that  some  will  grumble — 

"High  price  for  a  heap  of  stones !" 


"THEY  SHALL  NOT  PASS" 

(Words  uttered  by  Kaiser  against  the  Allied  Armies  in 
France.) 

"They  Shall  Not  Pass!" 

O,  Boasting  Kaiser, 
In  a  few  months  thou  shalt  be  wiser, 
Thy  fool,  proud  words  like  froth  of  the  Sea 
Which  swelleth  to  die — then  none  may  see. 

Kaiser !    I  boast  not  of  prophet's  power, 
Nor  prophet's  mantle  on  me  this  hour, 
Tis  High  Heaven  hath  judged  thee,  and  thy  words, 
His  instruments  are  the  Allied  Swords ! 
Insults  thou  cast  on  His  Son — The  Christ — 
The  reason  thou  with  Defeat  holds  tryst! 

Long  years  in  heart  thou  hast  hated  Him — 
Twas  Odin  thy  Lord — thy  thoughts  were  grim — 
Thy  purpose  fell,  that  you  knew  full  well 
In  heart  of  The  Christ  could  never  dwell. 

This  Nazarene  too  womanish  made — 
Thy  hand  in  Odin's  red  hand  was  laid — 
For  hadst  thou  thy  will  how  soon  would  cease 
The  Nazarene' s  dream  of  world  wide  peace! 

Twas  Odin's  peace  thy  heart  did  crave 
To  see  World's  People  bend  down — thy  slave — 
Where  never  a  tongue  should  wag  disdain 
A  peace  where  The  Brute  of  Blood  should  reign. 

15 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Your  honored  Teachers  who  Christ  reviled — 
Your  Protestant  Teachers  taught  each  child 
The  State,  The  Kaiser,  should  reign  alone 
With  Odin  seated,  no  Christ  to  own! 

The  lisping  babe  from  the  cradle  came 
Thinking  of  Battle,  and  Sword,  and  Flame, 
Peace  for  the  coward — man's  might  the  end — 
Gain  to  be  wrested  with  soul  of  fiend: 

Envious  eyes  should  on  neighbor  look, 
It  was  not  thievery  if  one  took 
Land  from  the  man — from  the  babies,  bread — • 
What  if  others  starve — so  Prussians  fed — 

Honor  and  Gold  on  Preachers  bestow'd 
If  Christ  reviled — The  Bible  a  load 
Man  should  not  carry  in  heart  or  brain — 
So  God's  Truth  in  all  thy  land  was  slain. 

With  shoutings  of  Joy  thy  people  went 
To  neighbor's  home,  with  the  mad  intent 
To  crush,  to  butcher,  so  none  dare  stand 
As  enemies  to  thy  ruthless  hand. 

Conquering,  won  o'er  many  a  state — 
Thy  cruelty  like  to  wild  beast's  hate 
Crushing  all  peoples  with  iron  heel — 
With  Robber's  heart  to  plunder — steal ! 

Surely  thy  victory  oft  hath  been — 
Surely  thy  victory  oft  times  seen — 
Full  cup  of  Glory  was  at  thy  lips — 
But  Jehovah  spoke — then  all  Eclipse ! 

Till  The  God  of  Heaven  cried  out,  "Enough !" 
Thy  host  of  minions,  bloody  and  rough, 
He  broke  thy  millions  as  brittle  glass: 
"Lo,  Beyond  this  point  Hun  shall  not  pass!" 

The  Allies  shall  pass  with  iron  tread — 
With  thy  many  thousand  shall  death  be  fed — 

16 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

God's  sword  shall  strike  at  thy  putrid  mass — 
Jehovah  hath  said : 

"Thou  shall  not  pass!" 

VERDUN 

O,  Verdun,  Verdun,  thine  a  bloody  reek, 
Surely  in  future  ages  men  will  speak 
Of  thy  damned  holocaust  with  pallid  cheek. 
O,  Verdun — madness  fired  with  keen  desire 
To  blast  through  Human  Flesh  with  liquid  fire 
Pathway  to  Glory  for  a  Son — by  Sire. 
O,  Verdun — shambles  for  a  gluttony 
Of  Empire,  stretching  from  ice — Baltic  Sea 
To  where  the  Persian  summer  waters  be! 
O,  Verdun — Liquid  flames  have  burned  thy  grass — 
Thy  spring  time  pasture  once  where  flowers  did  mass — 
And  lovers  loved  to  pluck  as  they  did  pass. 
O,  Verdun — plowed  thy  fields  and  there  did  rain 
The  iron  seed — the  harvest  of  a  grain 
Costly,  utterly  worthless  to  obtain. 
O,  Verdun — Hate  did  surely  set  a  pace 
For  human  butchery,  dastardly  disgrace, 
Life  held  so  cheaply  to  a  World  wide  face. 
O,  Verdun — Storm  ridden  by  fell  thunder, 
The  sky  with  leaden  hail  is  rent  asunder. 
At  last  a  failure,  a  gigantic  blunder ! 
O,  Verdun — Death  most  surely  on  thee  thrives — 
One  salient  costs  a  hundred  thousand  lives — 
Woe  to  the  ghastly  victim  who  survives. 
O,  Verdun — curse  of  widow's  wail  and  orphan's  cry 
O'er  trembling  earth,  under  sulphurous  sky — 
Best  Youth  of  two  Grand  Nations  go  to  die. 
O,  Verdun — death  trap,  teeth  sharp  and  cruel  set, 

17 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

With  the  heart  cries,  and  with  the  sobbing  breath 
The  Flower  of  manhood  on  to  certain  death ! 
O,  Verdun — and  we  shudder  as  we  tell — 
Thou  to  the  million  souls  that  round  thee  fell 
Gateway  to  Heaven,  or  the  pit  of  Hell. 
O,  Verdun — maelstrom  liquid  flame  for  waves 
By  day  and  night  vindictive  madness  craves 
The  winning  of  one  million  young  men's  graves. 
O,  Verdun — modern  Moloch's  slaughter  place — 
Craves  not  for  cripples,  nor  the  aged  face, 
The  iron  jaws  crush  flower  of  every  Race ! 
O,  Verdun — sitting  on  thy  shell  rocked  hill, 
The  guillotine  is  working  with  good  will — 
And  all  the  ravines  soon  shall  bodies  fill. 
O,  Verdun — Thou  the  daunted  f  oeman  mocks — 
Victorious  maid,  tho'  shrapnel  mid  thy  locks — 
An  Empire's  might  is  shattered  on  thy  rocks ! 
O,  Verdun — Place  of  blunder,  yet  renown, 
For  surely  worthless  tho'  a  fort  clad  town 
Through  all  the  ages  shall  thy  name  go  down. 
O,  Verdun — meeting  place  of  foes  so  brave, 
That  he,  indeed,  be  surely  a  base  knave 
Who  would  from  either  foe  his  praises  save. 
O,  Verdun — revelation  place  indeed 
For  bravery,  and  courage,  and  grand  deed, 
Where  men  faced  death — and  of  death  took  no  heed. 
O,  Verdun — where  men  stood,  and  where  men  came- 
'Mid  pitiless  death,  faced  torrents,  sheets  of  flame, 
Heaven !  such  sacrifice  nothing  but  damn'd  shame ! 
O,  Verdun — when  War's  thunders  die  away, 
Behold  then  victims  crowding  all  the  way, 
Maimed  men — it  had  been  merciful  to  slay! 
O,  Verdun,  look — behold,  how  they  pass  by 
The  shattered  form,  no  hand,  no  leg,  no  eye, 

18 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

They  crawl,  they  grope — O,  Heaven,  best  all  should  die ! 

O,  Verdun — what  maimed  of  thine  must  stand 

Hold  out  to  passersby  the  beggar's  hand — 

Full  soon  to  be  great  burden  in  each  land. 

O,  Verdun — when  glamour  of  thy  War  is  o'er 

Will  not  the  cripples  begging  at  the  door 

Become  a  nuisance,  all  their  wail  a  bore ! 

O,  Verdun — surely  this  should  never  be — 

There  men  have  fought  for  all  humanity — 

And  all  should  honor  them  as  Royalty! 

O,  Verdun — tho'  all  glorious  is  thy  tale 

We  hear  the  orphan's  crying,  widow's  wail, 

Across  all  Europe  sorrow  shall  prevail. 

O,  Verdun — grave  yard  of  The  Bravest  Men — 

What  e'er  the  Nationality — their  deeds  did  win 

A  Glory  and  an  Honor  to  their  Race  and  Kin. 

A  GOLDEN  SONG 
A  golden  song  keeps  ringing  in  my  ears — 
It  comforts  in  my  sorrow — dries  my  tears — 
It  maketh  things  of  Earth  have  second  place — 
It  toucheth  all  illimitable  space 
Lifting  my  horizon  to  vistas  rare 
As  if  were  golden  blossoms  everywhere : 
And  music  rarified,  to  send  a  fire 
Through  all  my  being  of  one  sweet  desire, 
So  that  Earth's  trials  are  as  paltry  thing, 
For  well  I  know  that  passing  time  will  bring 
Surcease  from  sorrow,  and  surcease  from  pain, 
For,  lo,  The  Christ  shall  surely  come  again. 

BARTIMEUS 

Blind  Bartimeus  begging  by  the  way, 
Surely  sad  hearted  at  the  break  of  day, 

19 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

To  him  the  glory  of  the  Earth  a  blot — 

The  flowers,  the  trees,  the  waters  he  saw  not ; 

The  glories  of  the  rising,  setting  sun, 

From  him  a  smile  of  joy  had  never  won, 

He  heard  the  breeze — he  felt  it  on  his  face 

But  did  not  see  its  rippling  of  grace 

On  leaves,  and  trees,  and  rushing  of  ripe  grain ; 

Heard  beauty  of  the  flowers,  grass  covered  plain, 

So  oft  stood  wrapped  in  splendor  of  sunlight 

But  saw  naught — all  around  an  unlit  night. 

He  heard  the  love  words  from  his  Mother's  tongue — 

How  oft  to  see  her  face  sad  heart  was  wrung — 

Oft  times  in  misery — a  bitter  cup 

Held  to  his  lips  that  he  indeed  must  sup. 

He  heard  the  feet-like  patter  of  the  rain — 

He  heard  the  storm — the  thunder  crash  amain — 

Heard  men  exclaim :    How  beautiful  the  sight, 

As  when  kind  hearted  folks  led  to  the  height, 

And  cried :    Magnificent  indeed  the  view — 

See  the  far  reaching  sea  in  shades  of  blue ; 

He  heard  the  glad  song  of  the  mountain  rill — 

He  stood  in  woods — where  silence  seemed  a  chill — 

He  heard  the  moving  in  the  Temple  Court 

Of  multitude  coming — and  the  going  forth — 

He  smelt  the  blood  clots  on  the  altar  place — 

He  felt  the  Lamb  was  slain — as  he  may  trace 

What  priests  were  doing  by  the  songs  of  praise — 

And  tho'  he,  too,  his  voice  at  festival  could  raise 

He  could  not  see  The  Glorious  Temple  stand 

Marble  and  gold,  The  Wonder  of  the  Land! 

Aye,  no  more  stately  house  was  anywhere 

Than  here — where  Israel  had  bent  in  prayer. 

Now  may  imagination  play  its  part — 
And  whisper  he  was  very  sore  at  heart 

20 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Because  of  maiden  who  men  said  was  sweet, 

Made  music  to  him  with  her  passing  feet; 

And  she,  in  pity,  oft  times  spoke  to  him ; 

(Shut  fast  as  'twere  in  prison  house  most  grim,) 

And  as  she  passed  upon  one  eventide 

Did  his  voice  whisper :    "Be  it  not  denied 

The  Gift  I  crave — I  cannot  see  thy  face 

So  let  my  fingers  for  a  little  space 

Glide  o'er  thy  features — I  would  press 

My  fingers  softly,  not  in  a  caress — 

I  would  imprint  thy  features  on  my  brain 

And  tho'  not  seen — in  heart  they  would  remain." 

And  did  the  maiden  come  one  eventide 
Whispering  low — one  minute  by  his  side : 
"Lo,  David's  Son !    Messiah  who  should  come, 
Tomorrow  comes — let  not  thy  voice  be  dumb — 
What  He  hath  done  for  others — He  can  do 
So  glory  of  the  sunshine  seen  by  you." 

His  ears  all  sensitive  to  every  sound 
Heard  far  off  sandals  patter  on  the  ground,  , 
And  nearer,  he  heard  voices  as  bee  hum, 
And  his  heart  asked — Had  David's  Son  then  come ; 
Surely  his  head  was  leaning  forward,  thrust, 
He  heard  the  feet  slow  coming  in  white  dust, 
And  soon  the  foremost  comers  with  the  cry : 
"Jesus  of  Nazareth  is  coming  nigh." 
All  breathless  there — the  poor  blind  eyeballs  ran 
As  'twere  adown  the  road  to  see  This  Man 
Who  with  a  word  could  heal  the  stricken  eyes — 
And  high  above  the  murmuring  did  rise : 
"O,  David's  Son,  have  pity  upon  me !" 
But  those  around  would  stifle  that  keen  cry, 
Told  him  to  hold  his  peace — and  would  deny 
His  right  of  pleading — but  more  shrill  and  high 

'      21 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

"Thou  Son  of  David,  mercy  have  on  me !" 
And  he  who  listens  to  the  cry  of  bird — 
That  child  of  Abraham  all  surely  heard — 
Stood  still — and  told  them  to  bring  man  anear. 
And  they  abashed,  said,  "Be  thou  of  good  cheer 
He  calleth  thee."    His  garment  thrown  aside 
With  haste  he  groping  reached  The  Master's  side : 
"What  wilt  thou  that  I  should  do  unto  thee?" 
"Lord,  that  I  may  receive  my  sight — and  see !" 

More  blessed  he  than  any  of  our  race — 
Lo,  the  first  object  to  his  sight — The  Face 
Of  Prince  of  Glory,  and  The  Lord  of  Grace! 
A  sudden  burst  of  glory  to  blind  eyes — 
But  to  him  not  the  earth,  or  of  the  skies, 
But  the  Great  Being  who  was  standing  there 
Dust  in  the  beard  and  in  the  wine  shot  hair, 
The  linen  under  clothes — blue  mantle  rare 
A  wondrous  gift  wealth  only  could  bestow, 
The  common  sandals  that  poor  people  know, 
A  face  more  perfect  than  can  earth  conceive, 
A  face  to  trust — one  never  to  deceive — 
Ah,  in  His  bearing  that  impressive  thing 
The  Gift  of  God— the  hall  mark  of  a  King! 
So  wonderful  the  eyes — great  pools  of  light — 
A  shifting  of  a  glory  to  the  sight — 
As  if  the  God-head  had  looked  out  at  one — 
A  searching  flash — and  then  as  quickly  gone — 
And  human  eyes  were  only  looking  there 
To  win  affection,  and  to  banish  care, 
One  moment  look  to  dazzle  with  surprise — 
Then  suddenly  a  veiling  of  the  eyes. 

Surprise  and  Rapture  in  his  heart  complete 
Prostrate  in  dust,  kissing  the  sandaled  feet. 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

And  may  we  dream,  as  evening  shadows  fell 
A  gentle  breast,  in  thankfulness  did  swell, 
Choose  bunch  of  grapes  as  perfect  as  may  be, 
And  as  The  Lord  sat  'neath  the  village  tree 
Came  as  a  sunbeam,  coy,  shy,  afraid, 
And  at  His  feet  her  offering  was  laid, 
And  He  accepting  did  His  eyes  uplift — 
So  only  He,  and  she,  knew  why  the  Gift. 

HE  WALKS  THE  EARTH  ONCE  MORE 
From  age  to  age  my  feet  may  try 

To  find  revealing  place, 
There  is  no  secret  spot  where  I 

Can  meet  Him  face  to  face. 
No  mount,  no  vale,  no  wind  swept  place, 

On  any  land  nor  sea, 
Where  I,  by  sandal  print,  may  trace 

The  One  I  want  to  see ! 
In  storm,  in  calm,  in  solemn  hush 

That  comes  at  eventide — 
Nor  in  the  mad  tornado  rush 

Doth  He,  My  Lord,  abide. 
To  seek  Him  in  the  early  morn 

Where  glistening  dew-drops  be, 
When  bird  light  on  the  flowering  thorn 

Were  sure  the  place  to  see — 
For  He  a  Poet — and  His  words 

Borrowed  of  all  things  rare, 
1  know  He  loves  the  songs  of  birds 

In  the  fresh  mountain  air : 
I  know  He  lingers  by  the  streams, 

He  loves  to  hear  them  sing, 
They  color  all  His  Fancy  dreams 

Of  when  He  will  be  King! 
23 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

For  He,  by  human  nature,  stands 

The  Perfect  Man  of  Earth, 
Tho'  all  the  Worlds  shaped  by  His  hands 

He  is  of  human  birth. 
So  the  Pure  Thoughts  that  flush  the  brain 

To  Him  not  surely  strange, 
His  human  nature  shall  not  wane — 

The  never  more  to  change. 
And  so,  as  man  for  man  will  seek — 

May  I  by  chance  draw  nigh — 
On  mountain  top — near  valley  creek — 

And  so  may  see  by  eye ! 
It  is  a  happy  thought,  and  dear, 

And  yet  may  never  be — 
Yet  who  may  say  He  is  not  near 

When  we  some  stranger  see. 
I  may  not  think  He  hath  sat  down 

Upon  His  jeweled  seat, 
Nor  never  visits  any  town, 

Nor  place  where  waters  meet. 
Why  not  again — as  days  of  old — 

When  He  appeared  to  ken — 
I  love  the  Pages  where  'tis  told, 

"His  pleasure  was  with  men." 
If  He  did  such  before  He  came 

And  took  the  Human  dress, 
After  Earth's  suffering  and  shame 

He  loved  not  man  the  less. 
And  so  the  Christian  Scholars  frown 

As  mine  a  foolish  thought, 
Sit  Him  on  Royal  Seat  with  crown, 

That  Earth  He  had  not  sought 
So  they  upon  Our  Lord  inflect 

Grandeur  of  State  alone. 
24 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

The  Dreamer's  wishes  contradict 

And  make  this  wish  my  own : 
I  think  His  Human  Nature  craves 

To  tread  the  Earth  again; 
To  come  where  gracious  water  laves, 

Treads  hill,  and  vale,  and  glen ; 
I  think  He  walks  our  Cities'  streets — 

He  stands  in  market  place — 
It  is  a  Stranger  that  men  meet 

They  do  not  know  His  face! 
Perchance,  the  fights  for  bonds  and  stocks 

Passed  by  with  careless  tread : 
That  heinous  crime  His  manhod  shocks 

Gambling  in  poor  man's  bread! 
He  walketh  in  the  Country  place — 

He  walketh  by  seashore — 
Again  the  smile  is  on  His  face 

Once  seen  at  Joseph's  door — 
As  all  of  Nature  stood  to  Him 

When  boyhood  hours  were  fleet: 
Ah,  but  to  touch  the  garment  hem — 

And  kiss  the  nail  pierced  feet ! 

BEAUTY 
There  is  a  subtle  Beauty  in  the  World 

That  careless  eyes  so  often  miss, 
And  from  the  pathway  many  a  beauty  hurled 

Which  should  fill  soul  with  bliss. 
The  men  who  see  of  Visions  after  all 

By  far  the  richest  of  the  Earth, 
ThoJ  to  their  hands  gold  millions  never  fall 

Their  souls  are  wrapped  with  mirth. 
Lo,  Nature's  Beauty  charms  the  seeker  most, 

Eyes  keen,  alert  will  ever  find, 
25 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

To  every  Being  she  is  willing  to  be  host 

To  sooth  and  bless  the  mind. 
Lo,  Beauty  hath  a  mission  of  her  own 

Exceeding  fair  to  everyone, 
And  surely  in  the  wide  world  there  is  none 

She  hath  not  smiled  upon. 
Christ  made  the  World  a  vast  Treasure  House 

Of  splendid  beauty  unalloyed, 
Alas,  that  sin  therein  holds  fell  carouse — 

And  human  sight  destroyed; 
Purblind  in  mist,  and  shadows,  footsteps  go — 

Footsteps  that  should  have  dainty  tread — 
'Til  half  Earth's  Beauty  shadowed  by  keen  woe 

Living — uncoffined — dead. 
Men  weave  a  tensiled  Beauty  of  their  own — 

Theatre — Ballroom  making  fair — 
Gauze,  tinsel,  spangles,  paper  flowers  with  lights  sown, 

Cursed  with  the  fetid  air! 
The  morning's  splendid  crimson  lost  to  them, 

Pearl  dewdrops  on  the  trees  and  grass ; 
The  various  hues  when  daylight  groweth  dim — 

Night's  growing  stars  amass. 
O,  Maker  of  all  Beauty !    Come  once  more 

Touch  the  blind  eyelids  of  The  Race — 
The  long  lost  sense  of  Beauty  to  restore — 

For  Beauty  is  God's  Face ! 

WATERS 

O  Water,  Water !  but  I  love  Thee  so, 
Tho'  long  my  f  oosteps  in  the  inland  go 
For  Thee,  for  Thee  my  soul  doth  ever  long, 
The  swish  of  waters  was  my  baby  song. 
For  more  than  half  a  century  of  years 
Thine  is  the  haunting  music  to  mine  ears, 

26 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

And  Thou  hast  tinctured  the  uncounted  times — 
As  in  old  age  repeating  childhood's  rhymes. 

I  love  Thee,  Waters,  keenly  and  intense, 
From  the  first  hour  my  mind  had  any  sense 
Thou  wert  my  idol,  and  my  fond  desire; 
Surely  that  love  the  seasons  only  fire, 
And  Thou  shalt  be  a  best  beloved  to  me 
Through  the  grand  ages  of  eternity. 

The  morn,  the  noon,  the  eve — when  night  falls 

down — 

All  loving,  tenderly  with  glories  crown, 
Because  they  love  Thee.    Oh,  Thy  interludes 
Of  calm,  and  storm,  best  suited  to  my  moods ; 
Thy  plains  most  fair,  Thy  mountains  grand  to  see, 
Tho'  soft,  or  thundered  clad  Thy  melody. 

O,  Thou  art  blessed  and  superbly  good, 
Thou  hast  well  chosen  words  for  every  mood — 
I  hear  Thee  calling  ofttimes  in  my  dreams — 
In  sunlight,  too — a  wooing  voice  there  seems : 
"O,  child  of  mine,  come  back,  come  back  to  me, 
Wert  thou  not  born  beside  the  whispering  Sea." 

O,  Waters,  Waters,  I  would  go  to  Thee 
But  business  cares  have  strange  perversity, 
So  captive  bound  in  chains ; — if  I  were  free 
I'd  live  and  die  by  my  beloved  sea, 
For  as  the  music  of  the  sea  first  heard 
In  baby  ears,  when  I,  as  new  born  bird, 
So  at  the  ending  let  Thy  Waters  be 
In  death,  as  at  my  birth, — a  lullaby. 

A  LAND  OF  SWEET  DESIRE 

What  if  the  shadows  close — 
What  if  a  near  repose — 
27 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Shall  not  sweet  Death  disclose 
Vision  more  fair  than  this 
Of  earth  I  then  shall  miss : 
Shall  not  a  richer  bliss 
Then  dawn  upon  the  sight ; 
Shall  I  not  then  alight 
Upon  some  mountain  height, 
And,  lo,  before  my  gaze 
A  scene  in  golden  haze, 
My  every  sense  amaze — 
Behold,  mine  eyes  shall  see 
Where  hills,  plains,  valleys  be, 
A  grand,  vast  country 
Of  lakes  and  laughing  rills 
Which  flow  from  tree  clad  hills ; 
Where  song  bird  ever  thrills 
With  notes  of  perfect  praise ; 
And  many  a  flower  clad  maze 
Of  pasture,  where  flocks  graze 
Not  wanting  anything; 
With  gay  birds  on  the  wing 
Their  colors  not  a  king 
Could  dye  him  for  a  dress ; 
A  land  of  loveliness 
The  weary  soul  to  bless. 
Lo,  on  these  happy  plains 
No  more  the  labor  stains, 
The  aching  and  heart  pains, 
But  Peace  for  evermore, 
No  failure  to  deplore, 
No  burden  to  be  bore, 
Then  Labor  but  a  bliss ! 
In  such  a  place  as  this 
Peace,  like  profound  abyss 
28 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Unsearchable  in  scope, 
Whence  no  one  would  elope. 

O  Land  of  Dearest  Hope, 
O  Land  of  Sweet  Desire, 
A  vision  doth  a  fire 
My  soul,  and  I  aspire 
To  see  at  once  The  Day 
When  sorrows  flee  away, 
The  Lord  Christ  in  array 
Of  Glory  shall  come  near, 
Then  Love  and  Joy  ring  clear 
Because  our  Lord  is  here. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  MY  RING 

You  ask  me  whence  came  my  finger  ring: 
From  Warring  Mad  Europe's  fire  and  flame. 
From  pit  of  Hell — to  my  finger  came. 
It  whispered  to  me  the  song  I  sing. 

Whisper,  O  Ring,  from  whence  you  came? 
From  shadow  of  death,  and  hissing  flame, 
From  pit  of  darkness,  and  rush  of  smoke, 
From  vaporous  gas  that  seized  to  choke, 
From  shrapnel's  hiss,  from  machine  sharp  crack, 
Where  men  went  in  and  never  came  back, 
Mid  rifle  whistle,  and  bayonet  prod — 
Where  men  in  white  madness  forgot  God ! 

Ring,  from  whence  each  component  part 
Glass  maker,  worker  in  metal  art, 
By  prisoner  chained  in  a  Foreign  land — 
A  German  brain  who  all  deft  in  hand 
Shaping  of  ring — the  one  I  now  wear — 

29 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Somehow,  I  hold  it  a  thing  to  fear 
For  terrible  deed  was  surely  done 
When  this  metal  hissed  from  smoking  gun. 

Centuries — Centuries  long  ago — 
Artist  in  chamber  walked  to  and  fro, 
For  he  commanded  to  shape  design 
Window  that  whispered  of  The  Divine: 
From  window — looked  at  Cathedral  shrine 
Rising  aloft  in  tapering  grace 
Stone  fretting  carved  like  as  dainty  lace — 
Surely  a  Glory  to  God's  own  face. 

But  never  design  would  come  to  him — 
This  day  his  great  genius  surely  dim — 
He  knew  that  the  glassmen  waited  there 
To  throw  in  furnace  blast  and  flare 
The  Glory  of  Color  he  must  name ; 
But  best  of  his  strivings  now  a  shame, 
So  he  chamber  quit,  in  deep  despair, 
To  seek  inspiration  anywhere. 

Lo,  into  the  chamber  came  a  youth, 
Heart  singing  of  love,  but  lips  were  mute, 
There  dwelt  in  his  soul  a  Holy  thing 
Love  of  master's  daughter — Spring  blossoming 
Love,  he  dare  not  whisper  to  her  ear. 
He  looked  at  the  master's  drawings,  near, 
All  of  them  torn  as  in  dire  despair — 
Of  sudden  he  felt  as  wind  in  his  hair 
As  if  Seraph's  wings  had  litten  there : 

That  moment  unto  the  chamber  came 
A  maiden — then  cheek  and  heart  aflame — 
His  master's  daughter,  so  sweetly  fair, 
The  sea  in  her  eyes,  sun  in  her  hair, 

30 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Lo,  at  her  breast  was  a  fresh  plucked  rose, 
He  laughed — for  then  in  his  brain  arose 
The  colors  wanted  for  the  design : 
"Stand  still,  Beloved— for  work  Divine  1" 

While  the  maiden  stood,  lo,  his  finger's  flight 
Brought  a  beautiful  Glory  to  the  sight — 
The  delicate  colors  seemed  to  glow 
In  Heavenly  splendor,  a  grace  to  grow 
In  opulent  splendor  of  light,  of  shade, 
And  as  tracery,  rare  indeed,  was  made 
Instead  of  two — lo,  a  third  looked  down, 
The  Master  in  rapture,  without  a  frown. 

So  out  of  the  glowing  furnace  flare 
They  brought  him  colors  many  and  rare, 
The  lover  wrought  while  the  maiden  smil'd : 
The  master  gave  Prentice  his  only  child — 
On  the  day  that  the  window  flashed  in  grace 
The  light  through  the  colors  fell  on  face 
Of  bridal  couple — such  love  in  eyes — 
Through  Rose  Window  God  blest  them  from  Paradise. 

Artist  and  wife  for  centuries  dead — 
And  now  o'er  four  hundred  years  have  sped 
The  millions  on  millions  came  to  gaze, 
Stood  hushed  in  awe,  giving  silent  praise. 

Out  of  the  mine  and  furnace  blast — 
Metal  shaped  to  shrapnel  shell  at  last 
Filled  with  ingredients  a  demon  brewed, 
A  lusty  maiden  this  metal  screwed 
For  mouthpiece — humming  a  tender  song: 
"Lover,  why  tarriest  thou  so  long? 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

My  lips  are  hungry  for  tender  kiss — 
My  heart  is  aching — for  thee  I  miss." 

Shaping  death  missile,  love  thought  aglow, 
Where  was  her  lover  she  did  not  know, 
Somewhere  her  German  lover  now  fought — 
Then  to  her  heart  a  terrible  thought — 
What  if  in  future  this  shell  was  tossed 
Then  French  Lover  to  his  love  be  lost ; 
What  if  her  lover  a  prisoner  made, 
The  heart  of  the  maiden  sore  afraid : 

Then  came  a  day  that  the  fates  had  set — 
The  shell  sent  on  its  mission  of  death, 
Through  the  Rose  window  the  missile  sped 
Where  lying  on  straw — but  straw  a  bed — 
Her  wounded  lover  in  chancel  place 
To  His  mind  flashed  up  his  sweetheart's  face ! 
A  flash,  the  German  in  death  was  laid 
By  shell  that  his  sweetheart's  hand  had  made. 

The  yellow  haired  Hun — to  his  disgrace — 
Has  shattered  with  shell  The  Holy  Place ! 
Now  the  bats  and  owls  the  priests  that  be, 
Rose  window  shattered  that  none  can  see. 

They  brought  German  prisoner  this  piece  of  glass- 
The  mouth  of  a  shell — unsightly  mass — 
The  German  an  artist  adept  and  neat 
In  metal  and  glass — now  here  complete 
This  ring  on  my  finger.    See  it  glow — 
This  glass  was  a  Glory  long  ago 
In  Rheim's  Cathedral  window  of  Rose ; 
How  many  that  shrapnel  killed — who  knows? 

32 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 
LANSDOWNE 

Lansdowne !    We  hope  that  thou  a  dotard  art — 
That  not  the  worm  Privilege  at  heart — 
Nor  terror  stricken — with  twice  written  plea, 
"Peace  with  the  Hun" — no  matter  what  such  be 
For  otherwfse  we  hate  a  red  blood  Englishman 
Would  dare  speak  such  despicable  a  plan — 
Go  take  mulled  wine — go  to  bed  and  sleep — 
And  let  Lloyd  George  Honor  of  England  keep : 
Dotard  or  Poltroon  which — go  to  the  rear 
With  coward  Pacifists  make  thou  thy  lair. 

Lansdowne !    It  is  no  harm  to  wish  for  thee 
What  Belgium  suffered  of  heart's  agony — 
We  wish  thy  castles — houses  all  ablaze — 
And  that  no  cattle  in  thy  pastures  graze — 
And  all  thy  furnish — pictures — bronzes — books — 
Carried  to  Berlin  by  the  Prussian  Crooks — 
We  dare  not  wish  thy  wife  bore  Prussian  child — 
Thy  Daughters — well — at  all  this  you  had  smiled, 
And  shake  red  hand  that  did  thy  pockets  fleece, 
And  kiss  wife's  paramour — so  war  may  cease, 
Yes,  and  if  needs  be — say,  if  Prussian  toots 
Lansdowne  would  have  us  kiss  the  Prussians'  boots ! 

Lansdowne!  we  fear  from  whence  thy  fearings 

lead 

Making  thee  willing  to  condone  vile  deed — 
Class  Privilege  looms  larger  to  thine  eyes 
Than  women  butchered,  starving  children  cries — 
Ten  million  graves  o'er  which  grass  scarcely  grown — • 
But  that  small  price — if  privilege  thine  own ! 
Ten  million  faces  rotting  turned  to  sky 
But  a  small  price  so  privilege  ne'er  die ! 

33 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

"Let  us  to  table,  and  patch-peace  at  best, 
Give  Allies  peace — Prussia  may  hold  the  rest — 
Let  us  dishonor  England  and  her  flag — 
Cram  human  rights  in  Prussian's  plunder  bag !" 

Peace  with  the  Hun !  the  man  who  such  words  said 
May  well  be  fearful  of  the  Hour  when  dead. 
Where  tens  of  millions  slain  by  Huns  shall  stand — 
He'll  wish  for  Hell — or  even  a  worse  land — 
Ten  millions  meet  him  all  inspired  by  hate 
That  endless  ages  scarcely  will  abate — 
The  lowest  pit  of  all  the  deep  abyss 
Would  shrink  from  holding  privileged  wretch  as  this— 
Wha  would  for  privilege  the  whole  world  betray 
And  let  the  Prussian  Brute  have  his  full  sway. 

Peace  with  the  Hun !  who  never  yet  did  say 
For  four  long"  years — and  to  this  very  day — 
That  they  were  sorry  for  a  single  deed 
That  made  this  world  a  charnal  house,  indeed — 
And  every  day  we  hear  them  boasting  still — 
Each  day  succeeding  day  the  rolls  of  horror  fill 
With  acts  that  surely  stamp  the  Huns  sublime 
With  a  mad  savagery  and  love  of  crime ! 

Peace  with  the  Huns !  whose  hands  are  steeped  in 

gore 

From  breast  of  mothers  where  you  sucked  of  yore, 
Peace  with  the  Huns  who  took  your  aged  sire, 
Stabbed  with  a  laugh,  and  threw  him  on  home  fire, 
Peace  with  the  Huns  who  took  your  wife  in  arms 
And  made  a  regiment  wallow  in  her  charms, 
Peace  with  the  Huns  that  took  your  sister  maid — 
And  lower  than  a  prostitute  had  made, 

34 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Then  branded  with  an  iron  cross  on  breast 

To  show  a  Htfnnish  father  had  possessed, 

Peace  with  the  Huns  who  snatched  babes  from  the 

breasts 
And — who  may  say  it  ? — for  dogs  knew  the  rest ! 

Peace  with  the  Huns,  Sweet  God,  such  men  should 

live! 

Surely  the  Mother  who  her  breast  did  give 
To  such  a  dastard  truly  was  insane — 
His  mind  mis-shapen — should  have  felt  the  pain 
Of  days  in  hunger,  famished  for  bread  crust, 
Glad  for  dogs'  leavings  picked  up  from  the  dust, 
Bedded  as  if  cattle  on  a  truss  of  straw, 
From  any  wrong  a  victim  of  na  law, 
Lashed  by  the  whip  or  struck  with  rifle  butt, 
And  in  the  depth  of  winter  without  fire  in  hut — 
Then  surely  if  he  could  he  would  release 
If  he  had  Hun  in  power  with  kiss  of  Peace ! 

Peace  with  the  Huns !    Not  'til  they  shall  repay ! 
Tho*  that  Impossible  we  well  may  say — 
What  of   the   many   millions   slaughtered   e'er  their 

prime — 

Is  there  no  Hun  to  suffer  for  such  crime  ? 
Must  they  go  free,  the  murderers,  thief  knaves 
Who  held  three  Nations  shackled  as  if  slaves, 
Who  starved,  and  robbed,  dishonored  women  fair — 

Go  Free !    Look  up  to  Heaven  and  ask  if  God  is 

there  ? 

Germans,  Repent !  and  make  ye  full  amends — 
Surely  not  otherwise  to  call  ye  friends — 
Send  back  The  Prussian  Huns  to  their  own  place 

35 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

For  they  a  curse  to  whole  Germanic  Race ! 
Too  long  has  Prussian  hypnotized  the  mind 
Of  people  once  an  honor  to  mankind — 
For  the  Germanic  People  yet  can  be 
Gracious  in  soul-friend  to  Humanity. 

And  Lansdowne !  may  you  live  to  see  the  day 
When  your  Class  Privilege  be  swept  away — 
And  the  Estates  which  you  did  inherit, 
Not  won  by  labor,  nor  exceeding  merit, 
But  held  by  thee,  from  whence  you  took  rich  spoil 
From  half  starved  labor  whose  sweat  and  toil 
Held  thee  at  ease — For  Self  didst  never  see 
The  sorrow,  fears  and  tears  of  poverty ! 
May  all  thy  Parks  and  Pleasure  Grounds  that  now 
Held  selfish — soon  be  given  to  the  plow, 
To  seeding,  and  to  reaping  by  the  men 
Now  landless,  who  did  England's  battle  win 
In  fever  trench — trod  Flanders'  mud  and  mire — 
Facing  o'er  all  the  Earth  the  f  oeman's  fire — 
Bearing  War's  Burdens  in  the  Sand  and  Sun — 
Whose  brothers  perished  e'er  the  victory  won ! 
Thy  Lands  not  plundered — but  given  a  price 
That  may  thy  wants  as  Commoner  suffice — 
And  thou  no  more  be  of  the  ruling  class — 
But  doff  your  hat  when  England's  Heroes  pass, 
For  thou  art  proven  traitor  by  thy  words 
Who  had  bowed  England  to  the  Hunnish  swords — 
Go  to — and  be  a  commoner  in  street — 
And  hang  your  head  wherever  freemen  meet. 

SEVENTY  TIMES  SEVEN 

Seventy  times  seven ! — Peter,  did  you  hear — 
O  soul,  we  far  outnumber  that  in  any  year, 

36 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Aye  month,  aye  week,  alas  in  every  day — 
Lord  Christ,  be  merciful  I  humbly  pray. 

Reckon  the  numbers  for  full  fifty  years — 
Countless  the  sum  that  penitential  tears 

Can  never  wash  a  single  one  away — 
No  matter  what  we  do — nor  how  we  pray 

The  midnight  vigil  seems  but  to  distress 
Then  sins  stand  out  in  fearful  hideousness, 

And  we  are  children,  cowering  in  the  bed, 
With  bed  clothes  vainly  covering  up  the  head. 

Lo,  when  the  conscience  stricken  with  its  sin 
'Tis'  vain,  indeed,  surcease  from  terror  win — 

All  sins  stand  lurid  as  in  lightning  flash, 
We  trembling  wait  God's  voice  in  thunder  crash. 

But  when  the  truth  comes  to  the  stricken  mind 
No  Hope  in  self — nor  consolation  find — 

Then  in  the  Blood  Atonement  we  are  shriven 
By  Faith  in  Christ,  and  every  sin  forgiven ! 

Still  seventy  times  seven  we  still  transgress — 
But  with  confession  comes  a  voice  to  Bless, 

For  tho'  transgressions  numberless  as  sands 
Forgiving  ever  still  The  Lord  Christ  stands ! 

THE  PEOPLE  WHO  LIVE  ON  THE  TOP  OF 
THE  HILL 

Oh,  the  people  who  live  on  The  Top  of  The  Hill 
They  ever  are  quiet,  they  ever  are  still, 
They  never  cry  out,  and  they  never  make  moan, 
But  reside  on  The  Top  of  The  Hill  all  alone : 
They  live  all  alone  and  they  never  come  down, 
Lo,  their  houses  arrayed  in  squares  like  a  town, 
Some  mansions  are  stately,  some  houses  are  poor, 
But  all  are  contented  their  lot  to  endure. 

37 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

The  strength  of  contentment  is  ever  their  lot, 
The  heat  of  the  noontide  is  never  too  hot, 
They  never  are  cold  'neath  a  blanket  of  snow, 
They  calmly  accept  what  the  seasons  bestow : 
The  clang  of  fierce  labor  comes  never  to  them, 
They  toil  not,  nor  fester  in  factories  grim, 
They  never  are  weary — are  never  afraid — 
Of  the  rush  of  foul  panics  or  maelstrom  of  trade. 

They  have  shade  trees  and  shrubs  at  The  Top  of 

The  Hill, 

And  bushes  of  flowering — and  daisies  at  will 
Run  over  the  green  grass,  and  no  nettles  there, 
But  flowers  that  are  splendid,  and  blossoms  rare : 
Oft  peoples  who  toil  in  the  valley  far  down 
A  weary — oft  sigh  for  The  Hill  Top's  fair  town, 
Oft  wish  for  the  day  that  their  footsteps  will  go 
From  slush  of  their  town  to  where  peace  flowers  grow. 

And  there  are  abiding  of  every  age 
The  youth,  and  the  man,  and  the  child,  and  the  sage, 
The  wife,  and  the  mother,  the  girl,  and  the  maid ; 
The  servant  of  master  there  never  afraid, 
And  riches  and  glory  they  never  desire : 
No  war  trumpet  blowing  inflaming  dark  ire, 
The  demogogue's  flattery  stirs  not  their  will — 
All  are  friends,  and  no  foes,  on  The  Top  of  The  Hill. 

It  is  sweet  peace  and  rest  on  The  Top  of  The  Hill— 
No  bustle,  no  hurry,,  no  short  hours  to  will, 
Today,  and  tomorrow,  is  ever  the  same, 
The  busy  man  never  puts  laggards  to  shame, 
The  poor  grow  no  poorer — the  rich  win  no  more — 
No  one  in  his  station  has  aught  to  deplore, 
They  never  are  fretful — ah,  life  is  so  still 
With  the  people  who  live  on  The  Top  of  The  Hill. 

38 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

There  is  no  fool's  laughter,  no  ribaldry's  jest, 
For  they  are  the  wisest,  most  faultless,  and  best, 
No  cheating,  defrauding,  no  thievery  there, 
No  sinning,  no  luring  of  vice,  and  despair, 
The  voice  of  all  passion  forever  is  still 
When  the  roughest  go  up  to  The  Top  of  The  Hill, 
But  ever  the  calm,  and  no  passionate  thrill — 
Lo,  the  Glory  of  Death  on  The  Top  of  The  Hill. 

THE  HOUSE  OF  TROUBLE  AND  CARE 

Why  dwell  in  the  House  of  Trouble  and  Care 
With  never  a  friend  your  hardships  to  share  ? 
What  tho'  your  larder  have  gracious  store — 
Yet  ever  the  wishing  for  more  and  more, 
Cares  many  are  haunting  the  heart,  as  flies, 
Are  changing  to  dun  the  blue  of  the  skies, 
So  bitter  the  tasting  of  sweetest  cup ; 
Care  crying — "the  locusts  are  eating  up 
The  promise  of  harvest,  the  worm,  mildew, 
The  Russian  fly,  and  birds  not  a  few, 
Devouring  the  grasses,  and  berries  spoil ; 
Alas,  'tis  little  for  wearisome  toil;" 
And  ever  the  thought — "There's  Death  in  the  pot 
While  Prophet  to  heal  is  far  from  the  spot ;" 
Ah,  woe  'tis  indeed,  past  even  compare, 
To  Dwellers  in  House  of  Trouble  and  Care. 

Come  move  from  the  House  of  Trouble  and  Care — 
Where  Peace  and  Contentment  are  smiling  to  share 
With  largeness  of  heart — cares,  f rettings,  and  tears ; 
Faith's  music  a  humming  through  all  the  years, 
Wherever  the  thought  of  better  tomorrow 
Takes  poisonous  breath  from  every  sorrow; 

39 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

As  seemeth  the  lot  of  all  human  to  share 

Sup  and  bit  from  platter  of  Earthly  care ; 

But  when  The  Care  Giver  hath  pierced  hand 

Tho'  the  heart  on  earth  may  not  understand, 

Yet  Faith  and  Hope  be  singers  to  thee, 

Not  knowing  the  why  of  Pain's  Mystery — 

(Yet,  still  a  numbness  in  every  shock) 

Love,  Faith,  and  Hope's  fingers  to  shield  interlock, 

And  surely,  One  Strong,  each  sorrow  will  share — 

So  quit  thou  the  dwelling  with  Trouble  and  Care. 

O  Human,  come  dwell  in  the  House  of  Content — 
Tho'  floor  be  all  earthen — and  roof  often  rent — 
The  rooms  be  not  large,  nor  ceiling  be  high, 
Nor  pictures  nor  paintings  to  gladden  the  eye, 
Yet  comfort  abideth  in  every  room — 
The  window  all  open  so  banishing  gloom — 
The  cupboard  hath  ever  oil  cruise  and  meal, 
For  Faith  will  never  her  rare  bread  conceal, 
Faith  knows  in  each  room  there  ever  will  be 
The  Sense  of  A  Presence  earth  eyes  cannot  see ; 
For,  lo,  on  the  lintel  and  posts  of  the  door 
Blood  sprinkled  with  Hyssop — so  never  more 
The  Angel  to  enter  and  smite  for  thy  sin — 
Lo,  the  Peace  of  The  Crucified  resteth  therein ! 
Then  no  matter  in  what  shape  earth  sorrows  are  sent 
Christ  shares  Trouble  and  Care  in  The  House  of  Con- 
tent. 

A  SONG  OF  HOPE 

O,  Patric,  my  Patric, 
The  darksome  days  will  come, 

And  all  the  love  notes  in  my  heart 
Shall  be  forever  dumb ; 
40 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

And  the  sweet  sunlight  of  thine  eyes 
For  me  shall  shine  no  more — 

O,  Patric, — my  Patric, 
My  heart  is  very  sore. 

For  soon  my  bud  to  blossom  grows, 
And  I  shall  not  behold 

The  sweetness  of  her  maidenhood 
To  womanhood  unfold: 

Then  other  eyes  shall  see  her  grace, 
Nor  I  be  here  to  see 

The  winsomeness  upon  her  face, 
Her  laugh  of  melody. 

Shall  see  no  more  the  bright  eyes  flash 
At  something  strange  and  new 

In  picture  book,  and  jingle  rhyme, 
So  sweetly  lisped  by  you; 

The  opening  stretches  of  thy  mind 
Seen  by  mine  eyes  no  more — 

O,  Patric,  my  Patric, 
My  heart  is  very  sore. 

Aye,  I  would  hedge  thy  footsteps  in 
From  any  grief  and  care, 

Wherever  should  thy  footstep  come 
Roses  and  lilies  fair, 

And  birds  should  sing  on  every  tree 
With  a  rare  caroling, 

And  in  the  sunshine  thou  shouldst  go 
Without  once  suffering. 

And  yet,  perchance,  it  were  not  best 
That  thou  a  fragile  thing, 

But  one  of  lofty  mind  possessed 
To  sing  as  lark  may  sing ; 

And  when  my  voice  behushed  in  death 
Thou  take  this  note  of  mine — 
41 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

And  thou  as  long  as  drawing  breath 
Sing  sweet  songs  all  divine; 

For  I  would  wish  the  singer's  robes 
Around  about  thee  thrown, 

To  sing  a  welcoming  song  to  Him 
Who  comes  to  take  Earth's  throne ; 

And  this  my  wish,  and  this  my  prayer, 
And  if  such  given  thee — 

What  matter  if  in  time  we  part — 
We'll  have  Eternity ! 

Enough  to  eat — enough  to  wear — 
With  freedom  for  each  song — 

Is  all  that  I  would  wish  for  thee 
Be  waiting  short  or  long : 

Till  at  the  change,  I  see  thy  face, 
And  feel  thy  kiss  as  yore, 

Then  Patric, — my  Patric, 
Tis  Glory  ever  more! 

FALSE  DEMOCRACY 

Democracy — Man's  Shibboleth  today — 
Sweep  we  the  Czars,  the  Emperors  away — 
And  even  Kings  must  give  up  courteous  sway. 

Democracy — like  virus  in  the  air 
Intoxicating  all,  so  men  declare 
(As  if  it  were  a  God)  "Rule  Everywhere!" 

Democracy — will-o-wisp,  vain  conceit, 
Beneath  its  aegis  every  known  deceit — 
With  brazen  law  Commercial  Wolves  can  cheat. 

Democracy — with  evil  men  in  power 
Can  only  flourish  for  the  briefest  hour, 
It  scarce  hath  buddeth  when  worm  in  the  flower. 

42 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Democracy — vaunted  as  "pure,  blue  flame" — 
(But  in  it  Evils  that  we  dare  not  name) — 
In  Coming  Hour  be  surely  put  to  shame. 

Democracy — the  vainest  boast  of  men — 
Who  will  not  see  their  folly  and  their  sin 
Can  never  victory  o'er  men's  passions  win! 

Democracy — a  dream  of  Wilful  Man 
Who  in  Jehovah's  Face  since  world  began 
Have  cried.    "Our  Wills  must  ever  in  the  van !" 

Democracy — painted-woman  in  her  youth 
Seems  to  be  Honor  and  a  Glorious  Truth — 
A  voice  of  Glory  never  to  be  mute : 

Democracy — first  a  glowing  thought — 
A  Path  of  Glorious  Peace  that  all  men  sought — 
Surely  a  Failure  ever  more  distraught. 

Democracy — the  gilded,  pompous,  brazen  show, 
Careless  if  creed  come  from  above — below — 
On  men  of  every  Creed  will  Rule  bestow. 

Democracy — would  rule  without  a  God — 
Wrest  from  God's  fingers  governmental  rod — 
It  will  disown — and  on  God's  Laws  has  trod. 

Democracy — a  changing  thing  must  be 
Changing  with  moods  of  blind  Humanity — 
Chameleon  to  suit  expediency! 

Democracy — it  casts  aside  The  Book, 
Lo,  in  Jehovah's  Book  they  will  not  look — 
So  wisdom  by  the  Human  soon  forsook. 

Democracy — is  the  CHRIST'S  Enemy 
It  will  not  own  an  Exile  King  is  He 
Who  yet  must  come  to  purge  humanity ! 

Democracy — is  but  a  passing  phase — 
For,  lo,  man's  Governments  since  earliest  Days 
All  have  been  Failures,  wretched  in  their  ways! 

Democracy — a  skimming  on  thin  ice — 
43 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Above — the  precepts  critically  nice, 

Below — arrogantly,  bold,  unblushing  vice — 

Democracy — shall  fail,  as  fail  all  rule 
To  men  permitted — man's  Government  a  School 
To  show  Humanity  without  God, — plays  the  fool ! 

Democracy — Destroyed:  then  Anarchy 
Shall  lift  its  ruthless  face,  as  fishes  be 
Without  a  Government  in  rushing  of  the  sea. 

Democracy — is  doomed — an  evil  thing — 
Stricken  to  death  by  ONE,  on  cloudy  wing, 
IN  ONE— THE  CZAR,   THE  EMPEROR,   THE 
KING! 

Democracy — shall  perish  from  the  Earth! 
Theocracy!  shall  give  the  World  new  birth — 
Filling  the  World  with  Plenty,  Peace,  and  Mirth. 

GRACE  ONLY 

And  now  I  know  'tis  Grace  alone — 

If  Christ  His  Grace  withdraws 
Who  then  for  Sinner — me,  atone 

For  all  God's  broken  laws? 
My  hope  is  in  The  Christ  alone. 

I  cannot  do  God's  will, 
No  other  for  the  past  atone, 

And  I  a  Sinner  still. 
Then  if  of  Grace,  and  Grace  alone, 

Salvation  is  Divine, 
His  Death  did  for  my  sins  atone, 

His  Righteousness  is  mine! 
Free  Grace,  Sweet  Grace,  Sovereign  Grace, 

Be  mine  to  ever  sing, 
Until  I  see  The  Blessed  Face 

And  bow  before  the  King. 

44 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

THE  FLAG  OF  DAVID 

"At  Jewish  convention — the  audience  were  electri- 
fied with  joy  when  the  White  and  Light  Blue  Banner 
with  double  Star  of  David  displayed,  where  one  kissed 
with  the  lips  the  flag — then  shouts  shook  the  Audir 
torium'' 

"O,  Kiss  the  Flag— Great  David's  flag— 
And  let  it  be  no  more  a  rag — 
With  shouts  we  bring  it  from  the  grave, 
And  it  shall  proudly,  flaunting  wave 
Above  once  wildly  scattered  Race — 
Once  more  o'er  Zion's  Holy  Place. 

Lord  God  of  Jacob !  hear  our  prayer, 
Now  that  war-ceasing  time  draws  near 
When  all  the  Nations  shall  have  peace, 
O,  Give  Thine  Ancient  Land  release 
From  Turkish  missrule — leperous  hand — 
Free,  Free  in  our  time  Thine  Own  Land ! 
Cause  Thou  the  Nations  to  restore, 
Owned  by  our  Race  for  ever  more — 
Let  Israel  once  more  lift  her  face 
With  pride — the  peer  of  any  race — 
One  'mid  the  Nations — we  as  they 
'Neath  kindly  Democratic  sway; 
A  Nation  in  Race  Brotherhood, 
No  more  cast  out — misunderstood — 
One  of  the  many  Nations  true — 
And  not  despised  because  a  Jew !" 

Surely,  the  time  is  close  at  hand 
When  Part  of  Israel  shall  stand 
Possessors  of  The  Holy  Land — 
Nations  with  their  request  comply. 
45 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Alas,  shall  come  more  darkened  sky 
Than  ever  shrouded  them  before, 
Again  their  enemies  shall  roar 
As  angry  beasts  pursue  the  prey — 
For  Jacob's  Trouble  on  that  day 
More  direful  than  in  all  past  years — 
A  day  of  Agony  and  fears — 
When  full  two-thirds  in  all  the  land 
Perish  by  persecutors'  hand. 
Then  He — The  One  they  do  despise 
Shall  in  His  Royal  Anger  rise — 
He  to  His  own  Race  shall  be  true — 
Go  forth  to  fight  with  Foes  of  Jew — 
And  He  alone,  with  words  of  lips, 
The  Gentile  Glory  shall  eclipse — 
And  saved  alone  by  His  own  hand — 
His  Race,  His  City,  and  His  Land! 

Alas,  the  Veil  still  on  their  eyes — 
In  their  self  Righteousness  despise — 
The  Rabbi,  Leaders,  Hoary  Sage, 
Blind  to  their  own  Prophetic  Page — 
As  blind  men  grope  against  a  wall 
Of  sorrow — that  may  well  appal. 

He  whom  The  Trinity  sent  forth 
They  mocked  Him — made  of  Him  a  sport — 
Butt  of  Sanhedrim — Herod's  Court — 
And  He,  Their  King,  they  crucified 
On  Cross;  heart  broken  The  King  died! 
His  rights  to  Pilate  had  denied — 
"His  Blood  on  us  and  Children!"  cried. 
A  Jew  He  lived — a  Jew  He  died — 
A  Jew  arose  and  cast  aside 
The  garments  of  the  tomb — arose 
46 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

The  Conqueror  of  all  His  foes — 

Sitting  in  Heaven  is  still  a  Jew 

To  City — Land,  and  Race  still  true. 

They  would  not  listen  to  The  One 

Jehovah's  Well  Beloved  Son — 

So,  to  their  doom  The  Nation  went — 

As  stubborn  will  could  not  be  bent — 

They  scattered  to  four  winds  of  Heaven — 

And  still  are  wanderers  unforgiven — 

Surely,  their  City  desolate — 

And  they  the  butt  and  jest  of  fate — 

Branded  by  hate — a  people  cast 

O'er  all  the  Earth,  no  simoom  blast 

More  fierce  than  hate — more  fierce  than  scorn — 

From  morn  to  night — from  night  to  morn — 

Surely,  for  many  centuries 

No  people  suffered  like  to  these — 

Fulfilled  to  letter  all  may  see 

Curses  in  Deuteronomy! 

Hail  to  The  Flag— The  Royal  Flag! 
No  more  motheaten,  despised  rag, 
For  it  shall  be  a  Holy  Thing 
The  Emblem  of  a  world  wide  King ! 
Upon  its  folds  there  yet  shall  blaze 
Glory  and  Light, — Ancient  of  Days, 
Jehovah  Christ  in  Zion  dwell — 
The  King  of  Grace — Immanuel! 

THO'  I  A  GENTILE 

Tho*  I  a  Gentile  I  shall  surely  see 
Israel's  return  from  their  captivity ; 
Tho'  long  years  dead,  and  mouldered  in  the  grave, 
I  shall  arise  the  day  that  Christ  shall  save 

47 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

His  People  from  the  Antichrist's  grim  hand, 
When  Dread  and  Terror  stalk  across  the  land, 
Old  Roman  Gentile  Nations  then  shall  be 
In  one  vast,  evil,  mad  confederacy 
To  crush  The  Chosen  People — and  make  void 
The  Race,  The  City,  Temple— all  to  be  destroy'd- 
So  that  no  living  creature  of  the  race 
Should  ever  more  behold  a  Gentile  face, 
From  under  Heaven  the  Race  be  blotted  out ; 
In  olden  Roman  land  West,  East,  North,  South, 
Eyes  meet  no  wanderer  of  the  accursed  race, 
All  slain  as  vermin  in  their  dwelling  place, 
Name  Israel,  nor  Jehovah — None  dare  name 
Except  with  hiss,  and  curse,  and  word  of  shame. 

O  Gentile  Brothers !  scorn  ye  such  words  ? 
They  are  not  mine — most  surely  are  The  Lord's, 
And  such  most  certainly  shall  come  to  pass. 
Are  men  not  Guilty  ?  lo,  Alas !  Alas ! 
Believing  not  The  Scriptures,  shall  hold  tryst 
With  him  who  soon  shall  come — the  Antichrist ! 
That  time  is  coming — surely  draweth  near — 
When  Gentiles,  Words  of  Scripture  will  not  hear 
From  Rostrum,  nor  from  pulpit,  but  a  screed 
Of  Blasphemy,  Defiance  of  Christ's  Creed — 
So  maddened  with  fierce  rage  at  Christian  Light 
Shall  stumble  headlong  to  the  awful  night 
Of  Unbelief,  and  mouthing  heaven  shall  be 
Despisers  of  The  Christ — The  Trinity ! 

Lo,  when  Christ  hissed  at,  as  Jehovah,  God ! 
Then  sends  Jehovah  The  Assyrian  Rod — 
Then  reign  of  vast,  and  Perfect  Wickedness, 
A  reign  of  Terror,  and  of  dire  distress — 
"The  Day  of  Jacob's  Trouble!"  ne'er  before 

48 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

The  like  of  such — and  shall  be  never  more 
As  long  as  earth  remains,  and  peoples  be! 
By  Day  and  Night,  pains  of  adversity ; 
Lo,  every  thought  and  act  of  lust  assail — 
Outrage  on  woman — slow  death  to  the  male — • 
At  home,  abroad  destruction  fierce  and  strong — • 
Victims  of  ruthlessness  and  mocking  song. 

And  the  First  Sign  that  such  is  near  at  hand — 

The  Jewish  earnest  hope  the  Nations  will  command 

The  Turks  give  up  the  land  that  they  have  cursed! 

Then  like  a  flower,  Returned  Jews  shall  burst 

A  sudden  glow  in  all  its  golden  bloom — 

Like  to  great  spirits  rising  from  a  tomb — 

They  with  New  Babylon  shall  take  the  part 

Of  Sisters  in  Commercialism,  Art; 

The  Rivals  in  attainments  world  wide  scope. 

Blasted  in  instant  Israel's  every  hope 

For  Antichrist  shall  bid  them  to  kneel  down 

And  place  upon  his  brow  The  God-head  Crown — 

One-third  in  all  the  land  shall  not  obey — 

So  then  his  fury  bursts,  and  he  shall  lay 

His  iron  hand  to  throttle  her  to  death — 

Swearing  no  Jew  on  Earth  shall  draw  a  breath. 

Enkindles  all  the  fury  of  his  wrath 

To  crush  the  race  who  dared  to  bar  his  path 

To  Universal  Worship — 

Then  when  they 

Are  shut  up  to  Jehovah — He  alone 
Can  pity,  spare — Then  Christ  from  His  Great  Throne 
Comes  down  in  wrath — and  with  a  single  word 
Crush  every  foe! 

Then  Israel  see  her  Lord — 
49 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Acknowledge  Him — Redeemer,  and  their  King — 
So  ever  rest  beneath  His  sheltering  wing. 


THE  LIFE  OF  A  SONG 

Laura's  slender  fingers  ran  o'er  the  keys 
Of  organ,  in  airy,  plaintive  mood, 
Some  dainty  song  a  lover  had  chimed. 
Listening,  I  thought  of  a  summer  wood, 
Murmuring  streams,  blue  violets  fair, 
And  love  grown  sweeter  in  solitude. 
Laura's  slender  fingers  ran  o'er  the  keys — 
Then  a  sudden  crash,  a  lightning  blaze — 
Dazzling,  beautiful,  swiftest  light, 
So  terribly  strong  in  all  its  ways, — 
Song  of  Defiance,  of  Love,  of  Death, 
The  grandly  marvellous  Marseillaise! 
Little,  Lille,  you  thought  as  you  sang 
To  Dietrick's  daughters  thy  new  born  lay, — 
But  looking  for  praise  in  their  bright  eyes 
Trembling  thy  heart  at  what  one  may  say, — 
Thou  wert  the  voice  of  a  million  hearts — 
A  nation's  song  had  been  born  that  day ! 
Little  brave  Dietrick  thought  as  he  brought, 
Filling  thy  cup  with  last  of  his  wine — 
In  his  red  wine  was  a  spirit  divine 
To  inspire  that  passionate  cry  of  thine ! 
Oh,  when  such  marvelous  blossom  before 
From  clustering  boughs  of  Frankish  vine ! 
Thy  song  no  more — 'tis  a  nation's  song, 
A  nation  mad  with  a  new  delight, 
Gaunt  giant  who  long  in  darkness  groped, — 
Cripple  who  finds  in  his  limbs  new  might, — 
What  wonder  if  he  in  new  found  life 

so 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Is  dazed  and  crazed  with  the  sudden  light ! 
What  wonder  if  he  when  foes  combine 
To  crush  in  his  soul  the  new  born  light, 
Would  spring  on  his  foes,  as  the  tiger  springs 
To  guard  its  young  from  the  hunter's  might, 
Would  feel  in  his  heart  the  hate  of  hell 
And  show  red  fangs  in  the  horrid  fight. 
What  wonder  if  he  with  tyrant's  crush'd 
Cowardly  craven,  kissing  his  feet, 
Should  give  of  the  cup  that  they  had  given — 
Deep  cup  of  bitterness — nowise  sweet — 
Filled  to  the  brim — death  mingled  with  gall — 
A  terrible  vengeance — dire,  complete ! 

"Send  us  some  men  that  can  dare  or  die." 
And  gay  Marseille  by  the  summer  sea 
From  vineyard,  orange  and  olive  groves, 
Where  the  rich  fruit  hung  deliciously, 
Sent  six  hundred  sons  to  dare,  to  do, 
Six  hundred  to  die,  if  needs  must  be ! 
"Ah,  fair  indeed  is  our  tideless  sea, 
Where  'mid  spicy  groves  our  sweet  homes  lie, 
How  sweet  the  bliss  of  the  loving  kiss 
Our  women  cling  for  a  long  good  bye — - 
Tears — are  we  not  men,  be  true,  be  strong, 
Northward  we  turn  to  do  or  to  die ! 
Our  feet  are  firm,  and  our  hearts  are  flint, 
Woe  to  the  foe,  be  it  priest  or  king!" 
Do  you  hear,  O  France,  that  martial  tread  ? 
Do  you  hear  the  song  the  heroes  sing? 
O  Paris,  mad  with  a  thousand  fears, 
Do  you  hear  the  cry  the  south  winds  bring  ? 
O,  sing  us  again  this  God-sent  song ; 
Brave  Brothers,  again  this  song  divine ; 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

It  nerveth  the  heart,  strengthens  our  souls, 
As  the  weak  wax  strong  from  fiery  wine — 
Scatters  our  fears  as  the  tempest  breath 
Shaketh  the  cones  from  the  northern  pine. 

What  thinkest  thou  of  the  song  they  sing, 

King  Louis,  son  of  a  hundred  Kings  ? 

O,  stately  Queen !  with  thy  haughty  mien, 

Do  you  hear  the  song  the  rabble  sings 

Knowest  thou  fear  as  thou  prayest  to  hear 

The  flap  of  the  Austrian  eagle's  wings? 

O,  had  you  a  mate  for  your  brave  soul 

Would  the  rabble  chant  this  new  found  song? 

Was  ever  such  eagle  soul  begirt 

With  such  dastard,  vulture  courtier  throng  ? 

Ah,  hapless  woman,  thy  queenly  brow, 

Shall  be  crowned  with  thorns  for  their  great  wrong! 

Now  thy  war-eagles  hear  it,  O,  France, 
They  awake,  as  it  were,  from  a  dream, 
Winging  forth  to  meet  victory's  sun, 
And  to  bask  in  her  magical  beam, — 
See,  how  Europe's  Kings  pale  with  affright 
As  they  list  to  your  passionate  scream. 
Dumouriez,  how  goes  the  battle  now? 
Lost!  see  the  Austrians  fringe  each  height, 
Resistless — down  like  an  avalanche 
They  come  all  victorious  in  the  fight — 
Oh,  shame  of  God !  see  our  steel-clad  ranks 
Broken,  now  scatter  in  dastard  flight ! 
Sing  then,  that  song,  'tis  a  God-sent  thought ; 
Tis  trumpet  note  on  the  soldier's  ear : 
"  'Tis  my  country's  call,  O,  coward  heart, 
Dishonor — not  death,  hast  thou  to  fear ! 
Shall  France  be  ruled  by  a  despot's  hand  ? — 

52 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Well  that  may  be,  but  my  grave  is  here." 
See,  each  coward  grasps  his  fallen  steel, 
Hark !  that  song  is  sounding  like  the  sea, 
Now  before  that  rush  of  song  and  steel 
See,  the  Austrians  waver,  turn,  they  flee. 
Now  our  lion-might  has  won  each  height, 
O,  Lille !  be  thine  this  victory ! 

What  have  they  done  to  thee,  O,  sweet  song, 
O,  song  that  was  once  our  soul's  desire, 
(Clad  in  rich  garments,  beautiful,  white,) 
Thy  words  in  our  hearts  as  though  of  fire — 
Now  in  our  ears  as  a  song  of  dread, 
Thy  garments  all  splashed  with  blood  and  mire  ? 
Now  speed  thee,  Lille,  with  all  thy  might, 
Hark,  the  pursuers  are  coming  near ! 
Why  started  thou  as  a  guilty  thing? 
Why  shivers  thy  soul  with  deadly  fear? 
Is  the  song  that  thy  pursuers  sing 
A  blast  of  Doom  in  the  father's  ear? 
Heard  you  that  cry  ?    Tis  the  night  wind's  sigh ; 
What  ghastly  thing  is  that  floating  there  ? 
Horrible  marriage — see  they  have  bound 
A  man  to  her  breast  with  her  own  long  hair ! 
A  demon  throng  are  singing  that  song 
'Mid  curse  and  prayer  of  wild  hearts  despair ! 
Oh,  women,  knitters,  where  are  your  hearts, 
Singing  this  song  in  this  horrible  place, 
The  victims  who  die  on  the  guillotine  high, 
Turning  to  you  each  wild,  wan  face  ? 
Some  braver  than  pain  sing  your  refrain — 
There  waiting  their  turn  for  Death's  embrace. 
What  Dietrich,  thou  on  the  scaffold  too  ? 
What  song  is  this  on  the  dying  ear  ? 

S3 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

How  thy  brave  heart  swelled  when  Lille  sang, 

With  thy  daughters'  voices  joining  clear — 

Cradled  this  song  at  thine  own  fireside, 

Now  the  rabble  are  singing  it  here ! 

Hark  you !  how  the  rabble  roar  and  shout — 

Brave  victims  bound  in  the  tiger's  lair ! 

Slowly  the  hurdles  of  death  go  by, 

The  noble,  the  brave,  the  wise  are  there, 

Smooth  brows  that  manhood  has  scarcely  kissed, 

And  heads  that  are  crowned  with  whitened  hair, 

See,  now  they  ascend  the  scaffold  steps, 

Now  hark  how  that  song  rings  clear  and  free, 

What — is  this  the  end,  O,  singers  brave  ? 

Is  France  the  France  you  had  wished  to  see  ? 

Thy  work  complete,  all  thy  hopes  fulfilled, 

And  this  the  pean  of  victory? 

One  tongue  is  chilled — another  is  stilled, 

Now  the  song  grows  faint,  but  not  with  dread. 

The  song  birds  are  falling  one  by  one, 

The  knife  from  the  volume  of  song  is  fed — 

O  Veignaud!  thy  voice  rings  out  alone! 

The  song  is  ended,  the  singers  are  dead. 

Where  hast  thou  been,  O  wandering  song? 
'Cross  the  snowy  Alps  with  noiseless  tread, 
And  'neath  the  blue  of  Italian  skies, 
Sweet  vengeance  poured  on  the  Austrian  head. 
From  my  fiery  words  and  flashing  swords, 
The  baffled  minions  of  Austria  fled. 
The  Eternal  City  heard  my  words, 
Its  ruler  paled  at  his  breviary, 
And  stifled  curses  instead  of  prayers 
Were  counted  on  beads  of  ivory, — 
But  Rienzi's  spirit  leaped  up  to  meet 

54 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

My  new-born  cry  of  Liberty ! 
And  fair  Greece  heard,  in  her  sleep  she  smiled, 
Was  it  a  dream  of  Thermopylae; 
And  the  frightened  Turk  his  prophet  asked 
Of  what  Christian  language  mine  may  be. 
Grim  tyrants  paled,  and  their  purpose  failed, 
From  shore  to  shore  of  the  inland  sea, 
The  pyramids  echoed  back  my  words, — 
The  sphinx  looked  down  with  a  sullen  stare — 
Ah,  surely  a  curse  was  in  that  look 
Twas  defeat,  disaster,  death,  dispair, — 
And  my  words  were  but  a  ghostly  sound 
Mingled  with  dying  warriors  prayer ! 
To  the  north — northeast,  the  eagles  flew, 
Ha,  the  Russian  bear  is  glorious  game ! 
Backward  he  shrank  with  sullen  growl — 
Now  on  to  the  death  the  eagles  came ! 
To  their  death,  alas,  with  victory  won 
Saw  Ichabod  written  by  Moscow's  flame ! 

Alas !  alas,  thy  singers  are  everywhere, 

Nameless  they  sleep — but  a  glorious  band, 

Some  have  found  their  graves  'neath  the  ocean's  waves, 

Others  enriching  the  stranger's  land, 

'Neath  Italian  skies,  'neath  Russia's  snows, 

Beneath  Syria's  wastes  of  burning  sand. 

Bann'd  thee,  yes,  banished  thee,  O  sweet  song, 
Robbed  the  tongue  of  its  pleasures  of  thee ; 
O,  tyrant  great  thy  imperial  power, 
Now  calm  thou  the  wind,  and  still  the  sea, 
Could  rob  the  lightning  of  thunder  crash, 
And  guide  the  hurricane's  revelry ! 
Earth's  fountains  are  deep,  and  living  springs 
Under  granite  hills  will  work  their  way — 

55 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

What  adamant  mountains  hold  them  fast 
From  leaping  to  greet  the  light  of  day  ? 
O,  tyrant !  where  is  thy  boasted  power  ? 
A  song  has  smitten  thy  despot  sway ! 

ON  READING  ARNOLD'S  POEM  ON  OLD  AGE 

Thou  pessimistic  Poet  of  Old  Age, 
I  pity  thee  in  reading  of  thy  page 
If  thy  heart  felt  the  sorrow  thou  didst  sing — 
Tho'  surely  it  has  that  within  its  ring 
That  whispers  'tis  the  record  of  thine  heart — 
Almost  thy  swan  song  e'er  thou  didst  depart 
Not  knowing  whither  that  thy  soul  would  go, 
Feeling  that  life  a  struggle,  where  in  woe 
Had  ribbon,  or  gray  mantle  for  each  day; 
Of  late  did  seldom  fretting  flee  away. 

Youth's  dreams,  ambition  vaunting  and  all  bold 
Now  shriveled,  lukewarm,  almost  chilly  cold, 
And  all  life's  way  let  traces  of  the  feet 
With  little  stains  of  blood  the  eye  to  greet ; 
Vast,  broad  the  hopes — the  path  fair,  broadening  one — : 
Alas,  as  years  went  by,  rugged  as  feet  pressed  on 
Until  at  last  it  was  a  narrowing  path 
Dinted  on  either  side  with  thorns  of  wrath, 
Keen  disappointment  in  the  aftermath : 
For  tho'  the  songs  and  essays  keen  and  crisp — 
The  scathing  words  of  scorn  the  soul  did  lisp, 
Showing  the  Soul  not  satisfied  to  rest 
With  "mummified"  respectability  at  best; 
Knowing  a  something  wrong  in  all  the  world — 
The  stinging  arrows  that  thy  pen  had  hurl'd 
To  slay  iniquities  that  cursed  the  age 
And  the  Great  men  were  dazzled  by  thy  Page, 

56 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Knew  in  their  heart  the  message  running  true 
Praising  advice — but  actions  would  not  do. 

And  surely,  Arnold,  may  I  think  at  last 

Knowing  State  preferment  time  had  pass'd, 

And  thou  must  lay  aside  thy  subtle  wit, 

Be  judged  in  years  to  come  by  what  was  writ — 

Finished  thy  life  work  be  it  wrong  or  right, 

There  came  The  Spirit  with  the  flaming  Word 

Smote  to  thy  heart — revealed  our  Blessed  Lord ! 

So  felt,  if  thou  could  write  another  line 

'Twould  be  confession  that  The  Christ  Divine — 

Christ  more  than  mortal — aye,  Thy  God  indeed, 

Who  could  give  fellowship  in  time  of  need — 

Would  solve  the  Riddle  of  Earth  wretchedness, 

If  men  would  harken  Christ  would  surely  bless. 

I  was  most  glad  to  read — how  summer  day, 

You  at  the  stile,  with  earnest  lips  did  say, 

"That  Christ  was  your  Redeemer."     When   words 

read — 
My  Soul  cried  out  with  joy  that  such  you  said. 

Surely  the  passing  of  life's  even  bright — 

Had  you  been  spared  you  surely  would  indite : 

"Lo,  Christ  is  He,  who  led  me  all  the  way — 

And  tho  I  knew  Him  not — He  followed  every  day — 

His  presence  makes  my  dark  December,  May, 

With  Him  in  Paradise  I  shall  abide 

Saved  by  the  Blood  of  The  Christ  Crucified." 

A  MILLION  CRIPPLES  IN  EUROPE 
A  million  cripples  in  Europe — 

The  maimed,  the  halt,  and  the  blind, 
The  brain  nerves   shattered   forever — 
Men  of  the  wandering  mind. 
57 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

A  million  cripples  in  Europe — 

Once  the  flower  of  life  were  they, 
They  came  from  the  marshes  of  battle 

With  blot,  and  rot  of  decay. 
A  million  cripples  in  Europe — 

Who  went  out  with  song  on  lips, 
They  were  The  Sons  of  The  Morning, 

They  creep  back  in  foul  eclipse ! 
A  million  cripples  in  Europe — 

Once  young,  and  free  of  pain, 
Once  were  the  sons  of  thunder, 

And  now  far  better  the  slain! 
A  million  cripples  in  Europe — 

Alas,  as  they  now  pass  by 
A  shudder  to  the  Beholder — 

"Poor  men,  were  it  not  best  to  die!" 
A  million  cripples  in  Europe — 

Are  held  by  an  iron  chain, 
They  bound  as  slaves  forever — 

Lo,  free  men  never  again. 
A  million  cripples  in  Europe — 

Plucked  in  the  Flower  of  their  youth, 
Thrown  out  as  if  scraps  of  rubbish, 

Forever  discarded  lute. 
A  million  of  cripples  in  Europe — 

Sweet  Pity  with  smiles  first  met — 
Alas,  if    the  maidens  marry 

'Tis  only  at  last  regret! 
A  million  of  cripples  in  Europe — 

Full  soon  will  the  people  say: 
"  Twere  best  they  had  died  in  trenches 

Than  scare  our  children  today." 
A  million  cripples  in  Europe — 

When  they  came  from  fire  and  wrath 
58 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

We  scattered  the  way  with  roses — 

But  what  of  the  aftermath? 
A  million  of  cripples  in  Europe — 

Before  them  the  long  years  stretch — 
With  young  blood  all  a-tingle — 

Each  only  a  beggar  wretch ! 
A  million  cripples  in  Europe — 

Apples  of  Sodom  to  gain, 
They  feel  as  death  had  cheated — 

Better  to  sleep  with  the  slain. 
A  million  cripples  in  Europe — 

To  the  virile  one  a  stench, 
It  were  best  they  had  been  sleeping 

In  the  shell  hewn,  muddy  trench. 

A  million  of  cripples  in  Europe — 

Oh,  Christ,  they  are  known  to  THEE — 
THY  pitying  eye  will  not  pass  by 

Where  the  many  prisoners  be. 
For  cold  grows  the  earthly  pity, 

Averted  the  Human  eye, 
In  the  vale,  the  hamlet,  City, 

Wherever  the  cripples  sigh, 
Be  near  and  reveal  THY  Glory 

Thou  hast  trodden  wrath's  wine  press  too — 
So  whisper  to  them  the  story — 

Oh,  bring  to  each  mind  the  view — 
THY  SELF  in  their  Blood  Redemption 

From  sin,  from  sorrow,  from  tears, 
So  believing — a  Full  Exemption — 

And  joy  in  the  limitless  years ! 

RAMA 

The  bitter  cry  of  Rama  is  not  dead — 
The  Mother  Rachels  are  not  comforted 

59 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Weeping  for  first  born,  and  for  youngest  son — 
Cursing  the  day  when  manhood  years  were  won 
And  they  went  forth  at  master's  call  like  sheep — 
Butchered — unburied — in  mud  trenches  deep. 

Lo,  Europe  is  the  Rama,  and  there  stands 

The  weeping  Mothers  with  their  thin,  worn  hands, 

From  weary  toiling  to  bring  up  young  life 

To  be  like  water  wasted  in  this  strife. 

Lo,  with  white  lips  for  ever  more  is  said : 

"Where  have  we  laid  my  little  boy  now  dead  ? 
I  want  to  kiss  the  spot  where  he  is  laid — 
They  tell  me  in  the  battle  he  displayed 
A  splendid  valor — what  is  that  to  me  ? 
I  only  want  my  little  boy  to  see — 
Or  at  his  grave  to  whisper  as  before 
Your  bloody  hands  from  Mother  bosom  bore : 
I  know  he  wants  me  just  to  kiss  his  hair — 
Fondle  his  hands — and  when  he  knows  I'm  there 
He'll  sleep  the  sounder — and  more  satisfied. 
God!    Is  it  naught  to  thee  my  son  so  died — 
Quenched  his  young  life  that  scarce  had  bubbled  f orth- 
So  full  of  laughter,  ever  making  sport 
Of  any  labor  that  he  did  for  me. 
And  from  his  life  a  fresh  young  life  to  see ! 
O  God!    You  envied  me  in  my  delight, 
And  with  rough  hand  had  plucked  him  from  my  sight- 
And  so  among  the  rotten  corpses  as  he  lies ! 
Hast  thou  more  pleasure  in  Thy  upper  skies — 
My  one  ewe  lamb,  and  thine  uncountable, 
My  lips  can  never  form  the  words  "  'Tis  well !" 
Now  that  my  one  ewe  lamb  is  torn — hath  died — 
Art  thou  in  Holy  Temple — satisfied !" 

60 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER  - 

Lo,  as  she  cried,  vindictive,  with  stern  eye — 
Behold,  to  her  The  Blessed  One  came  nigh, 
Saying,  "O  Daughter,  be  thou  of  good  cheer 
Through  all  thy  life  I  be  thy  Son  anear ; 
Thy  Boy  is  singing  in  my  Paradise — 
And  ever  for  Thee  watching  door,  his  eyes." 

A  WORLD  GONE  MAD 
(Women's  Plea  in  1914,  "Let  Us  Have  Peace") 

Can  ye  not  see  it  is  a  World  gone  mad — 
The  War  Disease  a  maggot  in  the  brain — 

Lo,  all  your  pleading  gracious  and  so  sad 
Are  uttered  unto  ears  who  hold  ye  vain. 

Can  ye  not  see  it  is  a  World  gone  mad — 
Both  men  and  women  furies  for  red  War — 

And  mind  ye,  next  door  neighbors  who  are  glad 
For  fearful  War  rings — not  a  nation  far ! 

Can  ye  not  see  it  is  a  World  gone  mad 
As  Reason  had  abandoned  Human  Soul — 

Lo,  even  women,  in  red  garment  clad, 
Their  voices  crying  for  War's  thunder  roll. 

Can  ye  not  see  it  is  a  World  gone  mad 
To  whom  ye  lately  pleaded  for  sweet  peace — 

Such  women  cry,  that  Peace  is  but  a  fad, 
And  would  not  have  the  shrapnel's  hissing  cease. 

Can  ye  not  see  it  is  a  World  gone  mad — 
As  Great  Destroyer  of  the  Human  came 

Grasping  the  strong  man — and  the  laughing  lad — 
As  pure  Destruction  was  the  only  aim. 

Can  ye  not  see  it  is  a  World  gone  mad — 
And  tho'  your  speeches  clad  in  common  sense, 

No  better  reasoning  surely  wisdom  had, 
For  all  your  pleadings  passionate,  intense. 

61 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Can  ye  not  see  it  is  a  World  gone  mad — 
Asking  for  Horrors  and  Destruction's  flame 

They  know  full  well  War  has  no  silken  pad, 
Women  deflowered,  child  murder,  and  men's  shame. 

Can  ye  not  see  it  is  a  World  gone  mad — 
To  Poland,  Belgium  burned,  torn,  rent, 

Yet  still  men  wish  to  horror — horrors  add 
As  self  destruction  the  one  sole  intent. 

Can  ye  not  see  it  is  a  World  gone  mad — 
As  if  some  fatal  gas  filled  all  the  air — 

That  something  all  essentially  most  bad, 
Not  be  reckoned  with,  filled  atmosphere. 

Can  ye  not  see  it  is  a  World  gone  mad — 
The  seething,  tossing  of  the  Nation's  vast, 

The  dearest,  nearest  joy  of  every  heart 
Unto  the  hissing  of  War's  maelstrom  cast. 

Can  ye  not  see  it  is  a  World  gone  mad — 
Ye  trembling,  fearsome,  utterly  most  weak, 

For  Peoples  will  not  listen  to  love's  cries 
They  smite  with  fury  any  warner's  cheek. 

O,  Gracious  Women,  useless  is  the  task — 
A  Mightier  Hand  than  yours  rules  everything, 

Ye  in  a  little  space  in  Peace  shall  bask 
And  after  that — War  and  Satanic  King. 

WHAT  IS  THE  GRAVE? 

What  is  The  Grave? 

A  lodgement  for  the  night 
When  in  the  West  a  setting  of  the  sun, 
A  place  of  halting  when  Earth's  days  are  done 
Where  one  may  slumber  'til  the  Morning  Light. 
The  feet  a  tired  with  dust  and  travel  stain, 
62 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

The  hand  a  palsied  weary  of  the  task, 
The  back  abent  aweary  of  the  strain, 
When  all  the  nerves  a  little  slumber  ask. 

O,  Keeper  of  the  Gate !  a  bed  prepare, 
What  matter  be  the  chamber  low,  or  high, 
I  shall  but  few  hours  take  a  slumber  there, 
For  I  am  listening  for  The  Master's  cry. 

Thus  far  I've  traveled  nor  have  met  my  Lord, 
Surely  His  feet  no  longer  afar  off — 
For,  lo,  I  humbly  trust  His  blessed  Word — 
Nor  turn  aside  by  atheistic  scoff. 

I  know  that  He  shall  come,  nor  will  delay, 
And  thoj  my  flesh  dissolve  to  unseen  gas, 
And  tho'  my  bones  shall  crumble  to  decay 
And  turn  to  dust  to  fertilize  the  grass ; 
I  know  full  well  the  moment  He  appears 
Components  of  my  flesh  return  again, 
I  shall  arise  with  prime  of  former  years 
Without  a  blemish,  not  a  stain  of  sin. 
As  He  is — so  then  I — a  perfect  thing — 
With  all  Eternity  before  my  feet — 
Growing  more  wise — a  grander  fashioning — 
More  gracious,  winsome,  perfectly  complete. 

And  so  the  grave  is  but  a  wayside  inn 
Where  I  may  rest  until  I  hear  glad  cry : 
"The  Bridegroom  cometh !"    Then  I  shall  enter  in 
The  Glory  of  The  Christ  as  He  comes  nigh. 

So  I  shall  lay  me  down  in  faith,  in  trust, 
The  sneer  of  unbelief  my  faith  ne'er  numbs, 
'Twill  be  light  sleeping — then  spring  up  from  the  dust 
To  meet  my  Lord  the  moment  that  He  comes ! 

63 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

THE  FIRST  ADVENTURERS 
The  first  adventurers  a  sturdy  race — 
Who  in  canoes  haunted  the  changing  face 
Of  these  great  water  stretches,  surely  brave 
In  birch  frail  bottoms  these  grand  seas  to  brave, 
With  hostile  Indians  ever  on  their  flank. 
Lo,  we  forget  them,  and  we  seldom  thank 
The  men,  who  daring,  vast  dominion  made, 
Who  trod  through  forest,  lagoon,  and  dark  glade, 
Grim  Heralds  of  the  millions  yet  to  come — 
The  many  thousands  born  in  garret  slum, 
In  hunger,  poverty,  and  dismal  plight, 
The  creatures  ever  haunted  with  the  blight 
Of  slow  starvation. 

Lo,  the  men  who  went 
Into  the  wilderness  with  stern  intent 
To  conquer  and  possess — made  possible 
A  land  where  hunger  never  more  need  dwell. 
Those  First  Adventurers — Chevalier  and  Boor — 
The  ruined  nobleman,  and  the  bitter  poor — 
The  Cavalier,  the  Honest,  and  the  Knave — 
The  branded  felon,  and  the  chartered  slave — 
All — all  had  tasks,  and  each  one  held  his  place 
The  some  in  honor,  and  for  some  disgrace, 
No  matter  what  their  aim — selfish  or  grand — 
They  won  for  us  a  heritage,  a  land 
Of  Rivers,  lakes — all  excellently  vast! 
So  we  revere  those  Heroes  of  the  past — 
Forgive-  their  sinning — faults  we  may  bewail — 
They  faced  to  conquer — and  they  did  prevail 
O'er  countless  obstacles  which  barred  their  path ; 
The  savage  wild  beasts,  and  the  Indian's  wrath, 
Fought  fearless — conquered — and  in  battle  died — 
Forgotten,  buried  by  the  rough  lake's  side, 

64 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Or  in  deep  forests,  noisome,  full  of  dread — 
And  now  they  sleep  forgotten  in  rough  bed 
Unwept,  unmourned,  the  almost  nameless  dead, 
With  just  a  few  names  on  the  roll  of  fame — 
The  vaster  number  never  known  by  name. 

And  we  their  great  possessions  now  possess, 
Dominion  won  by  them  .in  grim  distress: 
So  here,  an  idler  by  the  water  side, 
I  watch  the  restless  labor  of  the  tide 
Forever  coming  in  with  constant  roar, 
Beating  as  if  in  fury  sandy  shore: 
A  thousand  voices  with  the  swash  of  song, 
As  if  they  mouthed  of  an  awful  wrong 
That  man  had  cursed  them  with — rush  on  the  beach 
As  if  in  protest — as  they  died  beseech 
Humanity  to  lift  the  curse  from  them — 
As  if  from  caverns  vast  in  purpose  grim 
They  came  with  anger  of  a  troubled  mind 
Asking  of  men  the  cursing  to  unbind, 
And  set  them  free  as  they  were  free  before, 
To  murmur  only  praise  on  sandy  shore. 
To  me  it  seems  as  if  the  wild  waves  knew 
Man  to  His  maker  had  been  false,  not  true, 
But  a  great  sinner  in  his  wickedness ! 
Such  sinning  brought  to  waters  great  distress ; 
So  for  millenniums  did  them  grievous  wrong, 
And  crying  now,  their  waves  did  ever  long 
For  Christ's  sweet  blessing  and  exceeding  grace, 
So  that  no  more  come  storms  upon  their  face 
Making  them  instruments  of  woe  and  wreck, 
As  they  would  be  without  a  single  fleck 
Of  wilfullness — and  only  servants  be 
To  Christ,  and  man  throughout  Eternity ! 

65 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Now  as  I  sit  and  listen  to  wave  cries 

I  know  that  Christ  will  not  their  prayers  despise, 

And  He  who  spoke  of  old  in  Galilee 

Shall  so  the  like,  unto  this  Inland  Sea 

Shall  with  pierced  hand  outstretched  say,  "Peace !" 

And  ever  more  the  evil  tempests  cease 

And  man,  and  waves,  a  listening  to  His  voice 

Shall  only  worship  singing,  so  rejoice. 

THE  HOME  FOR  EVERMORE. 

The  World  was  made  for  Man  and  it  shall  be 
His  Dwelling  Place  through  vast  Eternity, 
Once  lost  Man's  Kingdom — but,  O  Glorious  thought 
Christ's  Blood  Redemption  the  Possession  bought, 
And  soon  Christ  comes  to  give  the  world  once  more 
To  man — and  shortly,  surely  shall  restore 
Its  Eden  beauty — aye,  shall  even  more — 
Add  Blessings — Blessing  of  a  countless  store 
To  this  vast  world.    Lo,  He  shall  purify 
The  Earth,  the  sea,  the  ever  bending  sky, 
Of  sin  and  its  miasma.    Lo,  good  health 
Shall  spring  forever,  and  abundant  wealth 
Of  eatables ;  and,  lo,  as  common  things 
The  purple  and  the  daintiest  now  for  Kings — 
And  man  all  paramount — Sinless  as  before — 
Shall  serve  in  love  and  adoration  evermore. 

VAST  IGNORANCE 

I  am  amazed  at  my  vast  ignorance — 
Tis  as  a  sea  of  infinite  expanse, 
With  depths  profound  which  never  saw  the  sun — 
Now  half  a  century — what  have  I  won 

66 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

To  add  unto  the  statue  of  my  mind — 
With  every  passing  year  I  only  find 
My  ignorance  of  even  common  things 
The  most  profound — a  worm  without  wings — 
Who  had  wild  dreams  that  he  at  last  would  fly 
And  be  a  dazzling  creature  of  the  sky. 
Most  clear  my  ignorance  was  revealed  today 
As  mid  museums'  treasures  I  took  way, 
For  with  a  jaunty  idleness  I  went 
To  see  what  wonders  men's  deft  hands  had  rent 
From  silent  nature,  who  her  secrets  hide 
And  in  a  house  of  silence  doth  abide 
Closed  lips,  sad  eyes,  and  finger  that  conceals, 
And  only  to  keen  searchers  she  reveals 
Her  hidden  pools  of  riches,  to  lift  up 
A  sip  or  two,  in  a  most  tiny  cup, 
A  sip  of  knowledge  from  her  boundless  wealth ; 
As  man  a  thief  had  only  gained  by  stealth 
One  jewel  from  the  millions  in  her  box ; 
The  patient  one  who  tries  to  pick  her  locks 
Catches  a  glimmer  of  the  splendors  hid — 
Alas,  we  cannot  lift  the  coffin  lid. 
Adam  possessed  Her  knowledge — but  his  race 
To  retrogression  now  stands  in  dark  place, 
And  merely  children  knocking  at  the  gate, 
Man's  knowledge  like  the  scratching  on  child's  slate 
Distorted — crude — guess  and  hypothesis — 
One  shrieking  that — another  shrieking  this — 
And  some  who  purse  up  lip  and  look  profound 
Utter  their  thesis — and  those  around 
More  ignorant,  with  mouths  agape  believed 
Such  knowledge,  and  so  millions  are  deceived. 
From  room  to  room,  from  case  to  case  I  went, 
And  to  my  mind  a  sharpened  arrow  sent 

67 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

"What  knowest  thou  of  any  single  thing 

Knowledge  of  stones,  creatures  of  feet  and  wing." 

And  at  my  ignorance  I  was  appalled — 

And  like  a  snail,  afraid,  I  would  have  crawled 

Unto  my  shell  of  ignorance — and  rest; 

But  now  my  soul  was  as  a  thing  oppressed 

With  darkness  seeking  light — who  could  give  light ! 

My  soul  grew  little  in  its  foolish  plight — 

The  jaunty  air  was  lost — I  stumbled  on 

Until  mine  eyes  a  glorious  vision  won — 

Ten  thousand  or  the  more  of  Butterflies ! 

Case  after  case  before  astonished  eyes, 

Rare  and  most  rare — the  color,  and  the  shape — 

Until  I  stood,  as  idiot,  all  agape 

At  this  magnificent  and  rare  display! 

There  tongue  tied  at  my  ignorance  I  stood, 

For  of  a  simple  butterfly  I  could 

Not  tell  of  habits,  nor  of  simple  needs, 

Naught  of  its  family,  or  kind,  or  breeds, 

What  made  each  color,  and  who  mixed  the  paint. 

Standing  mid  wonders,  suddenly  a  ray 

Of  light  lit  up  the  chambers  of  my  brain — 

Surely,  my  burst  of  praise  was  not  in  vain : 

"O  Christ!  Thou  art  the  unconceivable!" 

Then  flashed  the  thought,  some  fine  day  I'll  know 
A  perfect  knowledge  of  all  things  below — 
And  then  I  laughed :    There,  surely,  did  despise 
The  men  whom  millions  of  the  world  call  wise 
Who  hold  to  Evolution's  foolish  fad; 
Yet  very  soon  indeed  my  heart  was  sad, 
That  millions  would  believe  Satanic  lie 
The  Truth  of  God's  most  Holy  Word  deny. 

68 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Yet  there,  the  happy  thought  was  borne  to  me, 
That  after  death  there  would  most  surely  be 
In  Paradise  a  school  where  I  may  go 
And  learn  the  secrets  of  all  things  below, 
That  teachers  ever  ready  to  reveal 
Of  nature's  wonders — nothing  to  conceal — 
But  perfect  knowledge  of  each  earthly  thing. 
"O  Lord,  shall  I  on  Earth — a  Risen  Saint — 
Yet  have  a  perfect  knowledge  of  this  thing 
So  dainty  in  the  size,  the  shape,  the  wing, 
And  shall  such  come  to  me,  to  find  a  friend, 
I  to  control  and  to  its  comfort  tend." 

So  then  in  Resurrection  a  true  King 
To  rule  and  govern  when  once  more  I  came 
To  Earth — and  then  no  longer  sense  of  shame 
Of  ignorance — perfect  as  Christ  possessed 
A  power  from  Him,  some  creature  by  me  blest. 

A  GERMAN  MOTHER 

The  Prussian  came  to  woman  bereft, 
Who  had  once  sons — and  none  now  left — 
Pierced  to  her  soul — grief  knife  to  the  heft. 

She  list  to  words  of  the  common  kind, 
That  Rulers  dream  will  readily  find 
Abiding  place  in  the  poor  folks'  mind. 

And  she  bereft  of  six  sons  born, 

Answered  Prussian  King  with  words  of  scorn — 

Flung  the  cross  from  her  breast — he  came  to  adorn. 

"Kaiser,  tell  which  of  your  six  are  dead? 
Were  they  oft  half  clad,  and  half  way  fed, 
Slept  they  in  wet  trench  with  mud  for  bed  ? 

69 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Gold  and  lace  clad,  drank  old  vintage  wine — 
Rags  of  gray — foul  water  for  mine — 
Not  one  of  your  sons  had  cause  to  whine. 

Mine  at  the  front — all  yours  in  the  rear 
With  never  a  sniper's  shot  to  fear, 
With  never  a  hand  grenadier  near. 

Mine  in  the  frontal — the  mass  attack — 
Mine  to  rush  forward — never  come  back — 
While  your  six  sons  did  not  wide  space  lack. 

Thy  wife  a  woman,  and  so  am  I, 

Her  heart  made  for  compassionate  sigh — 

My  heart  bereaved  so  I  cannot  cry. 

Six  whelps  had  she,  and  six  whelps  had  I, 
Crushed — mine  in  the  mud  'neath  open  sky — 
Her  six  whelps  on  silver  couches  lie. 

Better  than  me — better  in  what? 

She  in  a  palace — I  in  a  cot — 

She  still  have  whelps  six — and  I  have  not! 

Will  your  fulsome  words  bring  back  my  sons 
Placed  as  target  for  enemies'  guns — 
Well  may  our  enemies  call  us  "Huns !" 

Thy  six  sons  were  ever  toasting  "That  Day !" 
They  would  be  leaders  in  battle  fray — 
Now  which  of  your  sons — a  victor!  say? 

So  bring  me  none  of  your  graceful  phrase 
'Til  you  bring  back  sons  of  happy  days — 
Or  one  of  your  sons  on  red  bier  lays ! 

Prussian !    Product  of  insolent  pride, 
'Tis  you — and  yours  that  have  cast  all  wide 
Hate,  Ruin  and  Death  on  every  side ! 

70 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

We  Germans  contented,  well  fed,  free, 
Til  you  shadowed  us — Monstrosity ! 
Spawner  of  death,  ruin,  misery. 

You  to  your  Northland,  you  "Prussian  Brute !" 
Now  from  Mother's  lips  hear  you  the  Truth : 
Your  wife's  womb  gave  birth  to  coward  fruit." 


RUSSIA 

(Written  before  1914.) 

Russia !    Why  persecute  The  Race 

From  whence  Thy  Saviour  came ! 
For  this,  a  curse  is  on  thy  face — 

And  thou  shalt  sup  with  shame. 
For,  lo,  Thy  Judge  who  is  to  come 

Shall  have  a  Jewish  Face, 
Before  Him  thou  shalt  stand  all  dumb 

In  terror,  fright,  disgrace. 
"Father,  Forgive  Them!"  was  His  cry 

On  Cross  before  He  died, 
That  prayer  was  registered  on  high 

And  will  not  be  denied. 
How  dare  ye  then  your  hands  embrew 

With  blood  of  Race  like  this, 
Surely  such  teachings  come  to  you 

From  bottomless  abyss. 
Russia,  thy  lands  were  vast  and  wide 

With  many  a  glorious  place 
Where  Israel  would  fain  abide, 

And  would  enrich  Thy  race. 
Vast,  Plains  uncultivated  stretch 

Where  bread  and  meat  be  found — 
7i 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

O  God,  with  plenty  in  their  reach 

Yet  hands  of  Jews  were  bound. 
Shut  out  from  Learning's  glowing  light 

Forbidden  to  possess — 
Making  them  weaklings  in  life's  fight — 

In  Ignorance  Abyss. 
Herded  like  cattle — narrow  bound 

As  hedged  from  life's  delight — 
In  ghetto — their  pale  faces  ground 

By  ignorance  and  hate — 
For,  Russia,  thou  as  savage  beast 

Oppress  with  teeth  and  claws, 
On  Israel's  misery  you  feast, 

And  flout  God  given  laws. 
For  this  thine  Hour  of  Doom  is  fixed 

His  warnings  not  in  vain, 
Wine  of  Christ's  vegeance  surely  mixed 

In  cup  that  thou  shalt  drain ! 
Ezekiel's  prophecies  foretell 

Of  what  thy  direful  end — 
When  vengeance  of  The  Christ  shall  fall, 

Thy  Cohorts  blast  and  rend ! 
As  surely  as  that  Christ  is  God 

Thou  shalt  His  vengeance  know, 
All  shattered  as  with  iron  rod 

Blasted  by  lightning's  woe — 
For  comes  the  day  when  thou  arrayed 

In  pomp  with  all  thy  might, 
A  blinded  nation  not  afraid 

Against  the  Christ  to  fight. 
Alas,  poor  Nation  thou  shalt  know 

The  fury  of  Christ's  hate — 
Thy  Race  to  utter  darkness  go — 

Thy  Land  be  desolate. 
72 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

AT  THE  GATE  CALLED  BEAUTIFUL 

A  certain  lame  man  at  the  Golden  Gate 
For  many,  and  many  a  year  did  wait, 
There  asking  for  alms  of  the  passers  by : 
Now  cometh  the  thought — Did  the  Lord  Christ's  eye 
Not  fall  on  this  cripple  in  all  the  years 
That  He  in  the  Temple  Court  appears ; 
Year  after  year  since  He  was  a  boy 
It  ever  hath  been  a  source  of  joy 
To  be  in  His  Father's  House  of  Prayer, 
And  surely  that  cripple  sitting  there 
Was  seen  by  the  eye  that  ne'er  grows  dim 
When  one  in  sore  need  was  wanting  Him — 
How  strange  that  cripple  did  never  hear 
That  a  Prince  of  healers  was  ofttimes  near, 
A  Prince  who  for  sorrow  had  open  ear, 
And  never  to  heal  the  sick  refused, 
The  One  who  the  people  praised — abused — 
Who  the  poor  claimed  friend,  and  the  great  despise, 
Ah,  what  questioning  thoughts  in  the  heart  arise. 

Did  the  Christ  refrain — and  in  heart  did  say : 
"Peter  and  John  will  come  up  this  way 
Entering  in  at  The  Golden  Gate, 
Where  for  years  and  years  did  the  cripple  wait, 
And  when  they  shall  do  this  work  for  me 
They  have  my  honor — and  I  honored  be." 
A  lesson  of  Patience  here  I  learn — 
In  our  blindness  oft  we  do  not  discern 
That  sometimes  a  sorrow  upon  us  laid 
By  Him — and  we  shrink  back  all  afraid, 
And  pray,  while  the  bitter  tears  will  fall, 
The  Christ  that  He  will  the  load  recall. 
We  moan,  and  we  fret,  and  we  faint,  and  fear, 

73 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

If  the  cloud  on  the  path  is  not  made  clear, 
Nor  say  submissive — "If  this  Thy  Will 
Our  hearts  shall  be  calm — we  patient  still." 
We  cannot  judge  by  our  common  sense, 
Our  faith  must  hold  all  in  calm  suspense 
The  time  we  suffer — for  who  may  say, 
It  was  not  our  sins  did  such  burden  lay — 
Our  stubborn  wills  that  the  sorrow  brought, 
And  this  should  surely  have  anxious  thought 
In  suffering  time :  who  knows  from  whence. 

Lo,  the  Lord  will  render  a  recompense 
For  the  time  we  suffer — and  know  that  He 
For  His  Glory  had  given  the  misery, 
For  ever  is  surely  a  rich  reward 
To  the  one  who  waiteth  upon  The  Lord. 

MY  MEDITATION  OF  HIM  SHALL  BE  SWEET 

Surely  my  meditation  sweet 

Of  that  most  blessed  day, 
When  sin  and  sorrow  at  His  Feet 

Their  hideous  burdens  lay. 
When  Ignorance,  oppression  cease 

Nor  round  the  human  coil, 
When  mortal  shall  not  mortal  fleece, 

And  labor  not  a  toil ; 
Then  manhood's  hope  and  manhood's  prime 

Not  blasted  in  the  bud, 
Oft  prey  of  poverty  and  crime, 

Their  poison  in  the  blood. 
My  meditation  of  Him  sweet — 

Then  fairest  thoughts  of  mind 
All  be  developed  and  complete, 

Shall  full  fruition  find. 
74 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

The  whisperings  of  mighty  things 

That  fainiij  now  I  see 
Shall  come  to  me  on  mighty  wings 

Of  grand  reality; 
My  wish,  desire,  now  shadows  are 

For  this  my  hope — to  be 
That  not  one  thought  shall  sin  debar 

From  Perfect  Purity. 
My  meditation  shall  be  sweet 

In  this  the  hour  of  pain, 
That  when  the  work  of  grace  complete 

I  shall  not  sin  again. 
Then  peace  and  plenty — no  distress 

Shall  ever  more  hold  sway, 
A  rare  and  perfect  happiness 

Of  perpetual  day. 
Then  shall  my  mind  have  peace  at  last, 

Nor  joy  be  yet  complete 
When  countless  ages  shall  have  past — 

My  meditations  still  more  sweet. 
Then  I  shall  see  "Our  Father's  Face" 

In  all  its  Royalty — 
And  praise  Their  name  in  every  place 

Throughout  Eternity. 

THE  BLIND  WISE  MEN 
An  Armed  Peace !  how  rich  the  thought — 
Peace — Force — Great  words  put  together, 
If  in  such  ring  the  Nations  wrought — 
We  surely  will  have  glorious  weather! 
The  Wise  Men  of  the  West  and  East 
Have  uttered  mandate  to  the  world, 
Nations  invite  to  Royal  Feast 
Where  Battle  Flags  forever  furled. 
75 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

This  Jordan — Taft — and  such  like  men 
Would  bring  the  Nations  to  a  tryst — 
Successful  peace  can  never  win 
For  both  of  them  uncrown  The  Christ ! 

They've  closed  God's  Book  with  such  loud  slam 
That  all  the  world  heard  the  report — 
Sneered  in  The  Face  of  The  "I  Am !" 
Treating  His  words  with  scornful  sport. 

Have  we  not  seen  such  fools  before — 
Heard  flaring,  grand  boasts  that  they  said — 
"There  will  be  Peace  forever  more 
No  warring  hero  lift  his  head !" 

And  when  their  Prophecies  made  vain 
Abashed  a  moment  in  surprise — 
Loud,  Swelling  Words  proclaim  again 
And  all  the  world  rings  with  their  cries. 

These  Mothers  have  been  brought  to  bed, 
Twins — Peace  and  Force  are  newly  born, 
Lo,  Warnings  that  Jehovah  said 
They  treat  with  insolence  and  scorn. 

Tis  Writ— "Then  Shall  Jehovah  laugh!" 
And  in  contempt  their  words  shall  meet, 
They  shall  His  Cup  of  Vengeance  quaff 
Because  His  Son  with  scorn  they  treat. 

Until  Jehovah  Christ  appears 
Lo,  Famine,  Death,  and  Sword,  and  Flame — 
Such  Counsellors  in  a  few  years 
Held  in  contempt,  disgrace  and  Shame. 
76 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 
BEHOLD  IN  CLOUDS  OF  GLORY 

Far  off — we  soon  shall  hear  it — 
That  Glorious  Battle  cry, 
Behold!  in  clouds  of  Glory 
The  Coming  Prince  draws  nigh! 

The  Lord  of  Glory  cometh — 
He  cometh  in  His  might — 
Lo,  all  His  foes  are  scattered 
Like  chaff  before  His  sight. 

Alone  He  treads  the  Winepress 
Of  God's  Eternal  Wrath, 
The  Might  of  all  the  Nations 
Cannot  obstruct  His  path. 

His  Words  the  Sword  to  vanquish — 
His  look — a  blasting  sore — 
The  Many  Millions  wither 
Nor  seen  for  evermore — 

All  Power,  and  all  Dominion, 
His  Own— His  Royal  Right, 
And  never  more  Defiance 
Shall  stand  before  His  sight. 

He  comes  tho  men  deny  it — 
He  comes  all  wrong  to  right — * 
Then  Perfect  Peace  and  Happiness 
Shall  flourish  in  Man's  sight. 

Far  off — But  He  is  coming — 
Tis  useless  to  deny — 
The  Golden  Light  of  Glory 
Shall  flush  the  earthly  sky. 

And  Saints  in  Holy  Rapture 
Shall  meet  Him  in  the  air — 
The  Dead,  the  Quick,  to  greet  him, 
In  Risen  Bodies  fair. 
77 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Then  we  shall  see  His  glory — 
There  meet  Him  face  to  face — 
There  know  the  full  Redemption 
Of  His  atoning  Grace. 

Lo,  in  His  train  of  Glory — 
We  shall  descend  to  see — 
Defeat  of  Sin  and  Satan 
Christ's  Hour  of  Victory ! 

The  many  millions  gathered 
To  crush  out  Israel's  Race, 
Shall  shrink  to  Death  and  Silence 
From  one  look  of  His  face. 

War  rushings  of  the  morning 
All  suddenly  shall  cease — 
And  when  will  come  the  Even, 
Lo,  on  the  Earth,  Sweet  Peace ! 

YOU  NEED  NOT  ASK  THE  REASON  WHY- 

You  need  not  ask  the  reason  why 
That  German  hopes  in  ashes  lie, 
That  German  graves  are  everywhere 
In  many  lands,  and  even  there 
The  people  spit  where  brave  men  lie. 
No  sigh  at  heart — no  tear  in  eye ; 
Why  cripples  throng  the  German  street, 
Go  where  you  may  the  eye  will  greet 
Sad  wrecks  of  maimed  humanity — 
Lo,  sackcloth  everywhere  you  see — 
Gaunt  widows  stalk  with  hopeless  tread — 
The  men  who  loved  them  mangled — dead — 
In  paper  shrouds  uncoffined. 
The  wan  face,  sad  eyed  little  one 
Who  only  knows,  "that  father  gone — 
78 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

And  is  asleep  where  no  one  knows — 
In  any  land  who  held  as  foes — 
Some  on  the  land,  some  on  the  sea, 
In  U  boat's  vanished  history". 
While  Poverty  squats  down  and  waits 
At  closed — that  once  were  open  gates, 
Lo,  desolate  once  busy  City — 
Now  not  one  Nation  German's  pity. 
A  pariah  amid  Nations  now 
Defeat,  Disaster,  on  her  brow, 
And  need  you  ask  the  reason  why — 
Surely  not  hard  to  find  reply ! 

Lo,  they  God's  vengeance  truly  won — 
For  they  disowned  God's  Blessed  Son ! 
Their  Rulers,  Wise  Men  of  high  place 
Turned  on  The  Christ  despising  face, 
They  tore  God-Emblem  from  his  head 
And  they  no  longer  worshipped, 
But  held  him  like  to  common  flesh 
Then  saw  not  God  in  human  mesh, 
He  wrought  no  miracles — His  word 
Not  God's — as  song  of  a  rare  bird — 
Somewhat  more  sweet  with  common  sense 
Than  other  men — made  no  pretense 
That  he  was  worthy  to  all  praise 
As  being  God — "Ancient  of  Days !" 
As  to  Jehovah's  Blessed  Book 
Its  influence  and  Power  forsook, 
'Twas  mostly  false,  and  fairy  tale, 
Each  Blessed  Truth  they  did  assail — 
And  Blood  Salvation  was  to  them 
A  butcher  theory,  dark  and  grim — 
The  virgin  birth  a  thought  for  sneer 
For  meaning  glance  'cross  stein  of  beer — 
79 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

The  Blessed  thoughts  that  Luther  taught 
Were  driven  from  their  heart  and  thought — 
Each  Bible  Page  did  rage  assail. 

Thus  turned  their  backs  upon  The  Christ 
With  their  war  Gods  of  Eld  held  tryst 
And  so  to  God — Stood  Reprobate ! 

Jehovah  left  them  to  their  Fate ! 
Laughter  from  The  Eternal  Throne ! 
Think  you,  'twas  Allies'  might  alone 
Crushed  them,  and  their  aids,  to  the  dust, 
That  made  them  suffer  for  their  lust 
Of  brutish  wantonness  of  crime, 
Branded  on  brow  throughout  all  time. 

The  Allies  were  but  instrument 
In  God's  hands,  for  the  sole  intent 
To  be  a  warning  to  all  Nations — 
To  crush  Pride's  insolent  inflations — 
A  lesson  to  United  States — 
Now  cries  of  victory  in  our  gates 
And  all  the  land  shouts — 

"We  are  they 

Who  turned  war's  tide  and  won  the  day — 
The  Allies  surely  crushed  in  deed 
Did  we  not  to  their  plight  give  heed — 
Our  "Boys"  all  valiant  was  the  force 
To  wreck  the  German's  onward  course 
To  Paris— Channel— Victory ! 
And  all  our  Allies  give  us  claim 
To  never  dying,  Endless  Fame, 
We  are  the  Saviours  of  The  Race ! 
All  o'er  the  Earth — in  every  place — 
80 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Wherever  the  sun  lights  land  and  sea — 
We  give  The  World  Democracy  1" 

Tis  well :  and  you  deserve  the  praise, 
United  States,  in  late  dark  days, 
Deserves  to  have  a  blessing  given 
From  all  the  Peoples  under  Heaven ! 
But  stay :  in  this  thine  hour  of  pride, 
For  That  sin  Germans  cast  aside — 
The  Sin  for  which  they  overthrown 
Is  Thy  Sin! — and  not  their's  alone. 
We  curse  the  Prussians  for  their  deeds — 
And  yet  we  glory  in  their  creeds — 
Yes,  take  to  heart  their  hell  born  creeds! 
College,  and  University 
Vie  with  each  other  who  will  be 
Foremost  in  Prussian  Blasphemy! 

Now  what  is  Christ  to  thee  and  thine? 
Is  God's  book  true  in  page  and  line  ? 

Or  is  The  Christ  But  Holy  man 
Who  broached  The  Democratic  plan, 
But  as  to  being  God !    Pray,  say 
Yours — your  father's  Faith  of  yesterday? 
How  do  you  heed  The  Truth — pray,  how — 
"Faith"  seldom  heard  in  Churches  now — 
The  so  called  Learned  men  who  teach — 
Most  eloquent  of  men  who  preach — 
Revere  no  longer  Christ  as  God ! 
Jehovah  wields  no  iron  rod, 
Simply  a  loving  Father  who 
In  science  stands  forth  to  your  view, 
Not  in  a  Hebrew  book,  where  lies 
All  plainly  meet  the  learned  eyes. 
81 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Ah,  surely  'tis  a  fearful  pace 
This  young,  and  stalwart,  late  born  Race 
Of  men — forsaking  God's  own  Christ, 
With  brazen  science  holding  tryst : 
"Which  men  can  handle,  see,  and  feel, 
That  only  is  the  true — the  real — 
Where  men  unfetted  of  Old  Ghost 
Moves  on  with  all  the  world  wide  host 
To  reign  of  Pure  Democracy." 

United  States,  sad  'tis  to  say 
Behold,  as  Germany  today — 
Shalt  Thou  Be  yet ! 

Shall  know  that  God 
For  mocker  of  The  Christ,  hath  rod — 
Look  well — read  lesson  over  there — 
Else  thou  so  Perish — so  Beware ! 

A  CUP  OF  COLD  WATER 

Hast  Thou  given  the  cup  of  cold  water 
As  told  by  Our  Blessed  Lord, 

For  be  it  to  Son  or  Daughter 
Thou  shalt  surely  not  lose  His  reward. 

Without  price  He  giveth  the  water 
Then  surely  is  thine  the  shame, 

To  refuse  His  Son  or  Daughter 
Just  a  cup  in  His  Blessed  Name. 

THE  BIRTH  OF  SONG 

Just  a  little  word  is  spoken — 
And  it  seems  as  if  were  broken 
In  my  soul  a  little  spring — 
And  the  words  gush  forth  a  token 
Of  my  "wee"  love  for  My  King. 
82 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 
THE  WORK  OF  JEHOVAH 

"The  branch  of  My  Planting,  the  work  of  My  Hands.'9 
The  People  be  gathered  by  Him  from  all  lands, 
His  Will,  and  His  Pleasure  be  then  all  Supreme — 
Israel's  Salvation  no  longer  a  dream ! 

But  now  are  false  Leaders  who  stiffnecked  declare — 
The  Return  of  Israel  "a  phantom  of  air" — 
And  with  Christian  Renegades  venomous,  dare 
Say  The  Words  of  Jehovah  a  lie — not  sincere 

Those  Renegade  Jews  are  rich  and  purse  proud, 
God's  Wrath  shall  enclose  them  soon  like  a  shroud — 
And  for  their  defiance  shall  feel  of  His  rod — 
With  Wrath  everlasting  be  stricked  by  God 

And  Christian  Blind  Leaders  on  their  eyes  dark  veil, 
Their  King  and  their  Saviour  with  contempt  assail — 
Yet  still  cry  in  sorrow,  in  grief,  and  in  pain — 
This  Nazareth  Outcast  shall  not  o'er  Us  Reign ! 

And  Zionest  Leaders — as  blind  as  the  rest 
Think  in  their  own  effort  they  shall  be  blest — 
Their  King  still  rejecting,  go  back  to  The  Land 
Despising  His  Leadership  and  His  Command. 

Lo,  back  shall  go  Remnant — and  cities  once  more 
Shall  spring  up  and  flourish  more  grand  than  before, 
The  Wells  of  deep  water  replenish  their  land, 
Lo,  joy,  peace  and  plenty  shall  go  hand  in  hand. 

Alas,  a  grand  showing — then  suddenly  comes 
The  rush  of  a  tempest — more  dire  than  the  slums 
And  ghettos  of  Europe — for  Antichrist's  hand 
Shall  smite  to  destruction  two  thirds  in  the  land — 
Days  of  Jacob's  dire  trouble,  and  they  in  despair 

See  fiends  all  around  them,  below  them,  in  air, 
When  seems  the  last  moment  of  dire  agony — 

Behold,  in  the  Clouds  Their  King  they  shall  see ! 
83 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Their  enemies  scattered  by  word  from  their  King — 
Then  He  will  relieve  them  from  all  suffering — 

And  they  shall  acknowledge  The  King  they  had  slain 
Is  now  The  Redeemer  from  Sin,  Sorrow,  Pain. 

Then  He  shall  gather  from  World  wide  places — 
Not  one  shall  He  lose — for  them  sift  all  Races — 

His  fulfilled  Promise  be  known  through  all  lands — 
"The  Branch  of  My  Planting,  The  Work  of  My  hands." 

THE  GOOD  NEWS  FROM  NAZARETH 

(After    reading    that    the    British    Army    captured 

Nazareth.) 

What  shall  mine  eyes  behold  it — and  not  die — 
Shall  I  behold  His  Oriflamme  in  sky — 
Behold,  at  last  on  weary,  sin  stained  world 
The  Flag  of  Christ  o'er  all  the  Earth  unfurled. 
What  is  the  meaning  of  this  news  tonight — 
Again  the  English  victors  in  the  fight — 
So  now  Jehovah  giveth  to  their  hand 
To  give  to  Jew  that  Ancient  Promised  Land. 
'Tis  strange,  'tis  passing  strange  this  passing  hour, 
That  the  vast  stretch  of  land  in  England's  power — 
From  the  Euphrates  to  Egyptian  River — > 
To  Israel's  Race  Jehovah  was  The  Giver! 
When  Abraham  stood  that  night  on  Syrian  plain, 
Jehovah  Swore  to  Him,  his  race  should  gain 
Possession,  and  to  hold  for  evermore 
The  Land  which  bordered  on  The  Great  Sea's  shore, 
From  Great  Sea  to  the  Great  Euphrates'  tide ! 
A  stretch  of  land  magnificently  rich  and  wide — 
That  never  yet  by  Israel  was  possess' d, 
But  when  Christ  comes  in  this  they  shall  be  blest, 
And  in  possession  no  one  shall  molest. 

84 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

And  so  my  heart  is  filled  with  Solemn  Glee, 
For,  lo,  this  hour  doth  mean  so  much  to  me, 
It  whispers  that  short  years  shall  surely  bring 
To  the  vast  world  its  Saviour  and  its  King. 
Surely  events  that  happen  now  abroad 
Tell  to  my  Soul,  The  Coming  of  my  Lord ! 
Almost  His  footsteps — He  is  moving  near — 
And  in  few  years  will  suddenly  appear. 

He  comes!    He  Comes!    Rejoice,  O  heart  of  mine, 
We  shall  see  soon  The  Israelitish  vine 
Planted  anew  in  their  own  ancient  soil. 
Alas,  short  time  in  Antichrist's  dread  coil. 
But  that  seven  years — then  may  those  present  eyes 
See  Lord  Jehovah  coming  in  the  Skies. 
Be  glad,  O  heart,  to  give  Him  praise,  to  sing 
The  near  appearing  of  my  Saviour  King; 
Angels  at  Christ's  Departure  witness  bore — 
"This  self  same  Jesus  shall  return  once  more" 
The  Blessed  words  we  never  can  forget 
Surely  His  Feet  soon  stands  on  Olivet ! 

TO  PATRIC 

I  would  not  have  thee  blossom  as  the  tulip 

Of  sudden  burst  unto  a  gorgeous  flower, 
Which  if  a  harsh  wind  blew,  or  even  softer, 

Behold,  thy  beauty  shattered  in  an  hour. 
But  I  would  have  thee  as  The  Rose  of  Sharon 

Gladden  the  eye  when  it  beholdeth  thee, 
Blossoms  of  rare  beauty  ever  budding 

Through  the  long  ages  of  Eternity. 
Blossoms  of  Graces  He  will  freely  give  thee — 

Sweetness  of  speech  and  kindliness  of  hands — 
When  Risen  Saint  thy  singing  shall  be  glorious 

In  length  and  breadth  through  all  Immanuers  Lands. 
85 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

THE  NEW  GOD  "DEMOCRACY" 

What  is  this  New  God  that  the  Churches  preach ! 
Like  a  sweet  morsel  on  their  tongue  they  teach — 
Are  full  of  glowing  promise  from  The  King 
The  Preachers  in  the  land  are  worshipping ! 

Lo,  scarce  a  pulpit  but  rings  with  the  praise 
Of  this  New  God,  and  on  Church  Altars  raise 
A  God  The  Fathers  knew  not — never  heard — 
But  on  the  Son's  lips  a  most  pregnant  word. 

The  Press,  the  pulpit,  the  professor's  chair, 
Scatter  his  splendors,  loud  and  everywhere, 
A  God  to  bring  a  blessing  to  all  lands — 
To  whom  Earth's  peoples  with  uplifted  hands, 
Face  haggard,  gaunt,  half  starved,  looking  up, 
Holding  the  empty  platter  and  the  cup — 
And  with  a  cry  lamentable,  half  shriek : 
"O  New  Born  God !  be  quick  to  act  and  speak." 

Bring  out  This  New  God,  let  us  see  his  face, 
Where  habitation,  where  abiding  place — 
Why  had  he  tarried  all  the  bitter  years — 
Humanity  in  Hopelessness  and  tears ! 

Say,  was  it  he  who  made  this  world  of  ours 
Who  spun  the  planets,  bounded  years  and  hours, 
Gives  man  the  harvest,  gives  sunshine  and  snow, 
And  made  the  liquid  waters  wash  earth  to  and  fro. 

What,  a  Principle !    A  creature  of  the  mind ! 
Not  one  of  flesh  and  blood,  nor  shape  confined, 
Just  an  idea  floating  in  the  brain 
And  each  one  in  himself  will  God  contain. 
A  state  of  mind — equality  of  thought 
That  works  in  soul — finality  thus  wrought — 
A  common  universal  purpose  and  desire 

86 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

That  like  the  Phoenix  never  can  expire. 

What  is  this  new  God  on  whom  we  must  call, 
Bending  our  wills,  desires,  and  on  knees  fall 
In  humble  adoration — This  new  God  be 
Prince  of  all  Gods  we  hail — Democracy ! 

O  Blatant  Fools !    Your  new  God  is  so  old, 
His  years,  his  ages  never  may  be  told — 
The  same  who  tempted  Mother  Eve  to  lie, 
"Ye  shall  be  as  Gods,  and  ye  shall  never  die'9 
The  Ministers  who  worship  scout  at  Sin, 
Ignore  a  fallen  nature,  so  that  men 
Scout  at  Jehovah — if  they  could,  would  see, 
The  Lord  Christ  on  new  cross,  new  Calvary. 

Democracy  is  rampant  in  its  pride — 
The  Christ  of  Revelation  they  deride — 
His  birth  a  lie — His  blood  is  a  disgust — 
He  and  His  Cross  are  eaten  by  Time's  Rust. 

Lo,  they  have  made  a  Christ  to  suit  their  views 
Of  words  and  actions,  and  true  standing  choose, 
Discarding  Godhead,  He  most  gracious  man 
To  lift  from  fair  Democracy  its  ban — 
Now  He  is  quite  a  patchwork  of  a  Christ — 
With  whom  Earth's  common  sense  could  hold  a  tryst- 
No  doubt  if  he  were  here  he'd  smoke  a  pipe, 
Court  the  unwashed,  and  share  the  bread  and  tripe, 
A  soulful  comrade  any  one  may  own — 

"Hail-fellow-well  met,"  who  would  never  groan 
If  slapped  on  shoulder,  asked  to  sit  a  near, 
On  sanded  floor,  cann'd  music  and  a  "bier." 
And  women  ask  him  to  take  cup  of  tea — 
Hear  the  last  ragtime  played — love  melody — 
Discuss  the  latest  novel,  favorite  movie  girl, 
Nor  think  to  play  a  game  of  cards  a  peril. 

87 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

And  this  your  Christ,  O  Pure  Democracy ! 
Thou  net  of  Satan — surely  he  laughs,  to  see 
Professing  Church  enamored  with  his  charms — 
Holding  to  Satan  eager,  welcoming  arms. 

Oh  God,  how  blind  Professing  Christians  Preach- 
ers be 

The  warning  words  of  Scripture  will  not  see — 
They  are  so  blinded  by  Democracy 
Jehovah's  words  they  hold  contemptuously ! 

Nay,  Christ  is  Lord,  And  Czar,  Redeemer,  King! 
Sweet  Happiness  and  Peace  will  surely  bring, 
And  man  redeemed  obey  His  every  law 
With  gladness,  joy  fulness,  and  holy  awe. 

THE  DEAD  ARE  NOT  ASLEEP 

I  do  not  think  the  spirits  are  asleep — 
Nor  held  as  prisoners  in  a  dungeon  deep 
By  stern  jailers,  who  with  power  severe 
Hold  them  in  places  fearsome  and  most  drear. 

I  do  not  think  that  Spirits  thoughtless  lie, 
And  as  the  centuries  pass  slowly  by 
Only  to  brood  on  life  they  left  behind, 
Careless  of  passing  Earth  years  to  their  mind. 

I  do  not  think  of  any  knowledge  given 
Of  what  the  present  Christians  call  the  Heaven, 
Where  Dead  ones  perfect,  without  body  stand 
In  place  where  Christians  call  the  Beulah  land. 

I  deem  Departed  Spirits  of  The  Blest 
Go  to  the  Paradise  that  Christ  expressed, 
While  conscious  there — and  happiness  all  sweet — 
Yet  till  The  Resurrection  not  complete. 

I  may  be  wrong — but  yet  it  seems  to  me 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

That  in  some  Globe,  to  us  now  mystery, 

There  unclad  Spirits  commune  with  The  King — 

But  uncomplete — and  not  The  Perfect  Thing. 

I  deem  it  school  where  Ignorance  destroyed, 
A  place  of  learning,  where  the  mind  employed 
With  vaster  visions,  what  the  days  will  bring 
When  they  come  back  with  Christ — Jehovah — King. 

I  deem  a  time  of  Training — when  we  learn 
The  Truth — The  Teaching  how  we  may  discern, 
Quick  as  a  flash,  the  very  heart  of  things — 
Alloy  of  error  ne'er  more  to  one  clings — 

I  deem  a  time  of  Training  for  the  Post 
Which  each  shall  occupy,  when  The  Saint's  vast  Host 
Take  up  the  reigns  of  Empire  of  the  Earth — 
When  Righteousness  and  Peace  this  Earth  shall  girth. 

I  deem  where  Angels  now,  the  Saints  will  then, 
But  surely  visible,  shall  walk  with  men, 
Direct,  and  teach,  and  guide  them  in  all  ways 
To  make  men  happy,  and  give  The  Lord  Christ  praise. 

I  dare  not  think,  believe,  when  Spirit  leaves 
This  Earthly  tenement  that  Darkness  weaves 
A  winding  sheet,  and  lays  my  soul  away 
In  narrow  space — like  body  of  flesh  clay. 

Nay,  nay,  Forsooth,  I  deem  my  Spirit  still 
Will  be  untrammeled,  more  so,  and  its  will 
Be  stronger,  fleeter,  on  the  way  of  Truth — 
Jehovah's  Knowledge,  Pure  without  Dispute. 

WONDERFUL  PEOPLE 

Wonderful  People!  wonderful  yet, 
Who  in  their  madness  did  God  forget 
They  have  been  smitten — yet  smitten  more — 
Grief  lies  before  them,  like  a  cloud  o'er; 
89 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Many  their  wanderings  stretching  before 
Darkness  and  madness,  Grief  bitter,  sore, 
Still  all  rebellious,  will  not  give  heed 
To  their  Messiah  tho'  dire  their  need. 
Mire  for  their  footsteps,  bitter  the  wrath 
Enemies  hating  them  grim  in  their  path, 
Weeping  and  wailing,  sorrow  of  heart, 
Families  driven  widely  apart 
Fathers  are  captives,  mothers  disgraced, 
Children  are  desolate,  orphans  displaced, 
Sold  into  slavery,  counted  as  scum, 
Filth  of  the  highways,  grief  stricken  dumb, 
Fearful  of  shadows,  plunged  in  despair, 
Torn  the  garments — nakedness  there — 
Wishing  for  death  those  yet  still  alive — 
For  bones  that  dogs  spurn  they  for  such  strive — 
Shelter  not  finding,  no  place  to  rest, 
They  robbed  and  cheated — nothing  possessed, 
Pariah  mid  mankind — hated  by  hate 
That  shall  not  sl.aken,  shall  not  abate, 
Morning  nor  evening,  fiercer  at  night 
Haunted  by  tremor — hating  the  light — 
E'er  it  reveals  them  prey  to  the  foe 
Bordering  on  madness — nowhere  to  go — 
All  of  the  Nations  hounding  to  death — 
Shrinking  from  hatred  everywhere  met 
Taunted  and  sneered  at — hatred  supreme! 

But  comes  the  ending — no  fancy  dream — 
Lo,  Christ  Jehovah  riseth  in  ire, 
For  He  had  loved  them — long  His  desire 
For  to  Redeem  them,  bring  them  back  home, 
Gather  them  safely  from  land,  cross  foam 
Where  they  were  scattered,  torn  by  hate, 
90 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Now  Judah's  Lion  calls  for  His  mate ! 

Rescued  from  perishing — stricken  each  foe — 

For  with  great  loving  He  loved  them  so ; 

Shepherd  rejoicing,  brings  back  the  sheep 

To  their  own  pasture,  ever  to  keep ; 

He  for  upbuilding  Gentiles  employ 

Kings  and  Queens  nursing,  giving  them  joy — 

Head  of  the  Nations — glorious  to  see 

Christ  King  of  Glory — King  ever  be 

They  Blessed  and  Glorious — Peace  shall  be  theirs — 

Lo,  in  their  Blessings — each  Gentile  shares — 

Wonderful  People — do  not  forget 

That  more  Wonderful  they  shall  be  yet ! 

A  WHISPERED  SONG 

Just  a  whispered  song  to  say — 
Christ,  remembered  me  today ! 
All  the  clouds  that  gave  dismay 
Have  evanished  away. 
Ah,  I  feel  His  tender  care 
Is  around  me  everywhere, 
In  the  midst  of  my  despair 
He  is  surely  watching  there ; 
Burden  Bearer — there  He  stands 
Prints  of  nails  within  His  hands, 
All  my  nature  understands, 
Thus  my  happiness  expands, 
He  is  with  me  every  day, 
He  is  with  me  all  the  way, 
All  my  sins  on  Him  to  lay ; 
Ever  words  of  cheer  to  say 
None  is  like  Him — none  beside — 
He  is  ever  by  my  side, 
91 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

All  in  Him  I  can  confide, 
Christ,  my  Lord,  The  Crucified  1 
In  His  heart  I  solace  gain, 
Strength  from  Him  I  can  obtain, 
So  each  song  claims  this  refrain, 
He  is  coming  back  again! 

WHAT  MANNER  OF  MAN  IS  THIS? 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this? 
Surely  you  well  may  ask, 
But,  ah,  to  answer  aright 
Were  surely  tremendous  task. 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this  ? 
We  knew  Him  as  Boy — as  Youth — 
'Til  lately  His  voice  not  heard — 
To  every  mocking  mute. 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this  ? 
Who  comes  like  purple  flower, 
Flaring  in  splendor  forth 
In  Majesty  and  Power. 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this? 
He  raiseth  up  the  dead, 
He  maketh  the  lepers  clean, 
He  multiplied  the  bread. 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this? 
Whom  even  the  winds  obey, 
Who  opens  the  eyes  of  the  blind, 
A  carpenter  yesterday! 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this  ? 
Who  even  the  Scribes  confound — 
And  even  the  Great  High  Priest 
Speechless  when  Jesus  around. 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this  ? 
92 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Who  heedeth  not  hate,  nor  scorn, 
Who  claims  to  be  Judah's  King 
Tho'  in  a  manger  born, 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this? 
Who  claimeth  The  Holy  Name, 
"Be-fore  Abraham  was — /  am" 
Thus  equal  to  God  His  claim. 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this? 
All  Kingly  and  Great  His  mien 
All  fitted  for  Caesar's  Court — 
Yet  ever  with  Beggars  is  seen. 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this? 
On  whom  the  Priesthood  spy, 
But  to  cunning  of  his  speech 
Can  never  a  word  reply. 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this  ? 
Who  is  ever  doing  good, 
Yet  ever  with  Beggars  is  seen. 
Traduced  and  misunderstood. 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this  ? 
Who  claims  to  be  Judah's  King, 
Yet  never  a  sword  is  drawn, 
And  never  does  trumpet  ring. 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this? 
For  surely  in  any  hour, 
He  breaker  of  Bonds  of  Death, 
Could  break  cursed  Roman  Power ! 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this  ? 
All  careless  of  Kingly  Power, 
Who  loves  to  hear  children  laugh — 
They  sit  on  His  knees  by  the  hour. 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this? 
His  Royalty  none  deny — 
For  there  on  the  Temple's  scroll 
93 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Apparent  to  every  eye  I 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this? 
As  he  quelled  with  a  word  sea's  foam, 
With  His  miraculous  Power, 
Could  crush  the  shackles  of  Rome! 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this  ? 
Who  tells  of  His  own  disgrace, 
Of  scourging,  mocking,  and  Death, 
With  no  tremor  in  voice  or  face. 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this  ? 
Who  telleth  to  women  and  men 
To  the  wicked,  the  base,  the  mean, 
"I  Can  Forgive  All  Sin." 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this  ? 
The  wonder  of  all  The  Land — 
With  ever  the  tender  word — 
With  ever  the  healing  hand. 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this? 
Who  scorns  the  Priestly  hate, 
Going  with  leisurely  will 
To  sick  chamber  early  and  late. 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this? 
Who  laughs  at  tradition's  flaws, 
But  ever  as  sacred  thing 
Holds  to  Mosaic  Laws ! 

What  manner  of  Man  is  this? 
He  surely  The  Christ  must  be, 
Greater  than  children  of  men, 
A  Holy  Mystery! 

MET  HIM 

Oh,  I  met  Him — surely  met  Him 
Walking  by  the  Sea, 
94 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

All  alone,  I  surely  met  Him, 

We  two — He  and  me. 
Tho'  I  saw  no  soldier's  spear  thrust, 

Nail  prints  in  the  hands, 
Still  I  know  The  Blessed  Master 

Walked  with  me  the  sands. 
In  the  waves  I  heard  His  whisper 

Softly — Ibut  how  sweet, 
And  the  wind  did  softly  whisper 

"  Tis  His  blessed  feet." 
Ah,  like  rapture  sweetly  blessed, 

Naught  on  Earth  like  this, 
And  by  faith  I  knelt  in  Glory 

Sandaled  feet  to  kiss. 

THE  CROWN  PRINCE'S  REQUEST 
Naught  but  Human  Ghouls  were  they 

Gathered  round  war  table, 
One  who  wore  cross  bones  and  skull 

On  a  cap  of  sable. 
Something,  Prussians  called  a  man, 

Uncanny,  scant  of  brain, 
Moloch  like  was  pleading  there 

More  victims  to  obtain. 
Half  a  million  stalwart  souls 

Brawn  and  youthful  men, 
That  this  callous,  scrawny  soul 

May  a  victory  win. 
Only  half  a  million  men — 

Men  of  his  own  race 
Should  go  forward  to  their  death 

Aye,  to  the  Shamble's  place; 
Half  a  million  Germans  driven 

To  Death  as  if  Cattle, 
95 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

To  the  open  mouth  of  death 

Shamble  place  of  battle ; 
Men — with  scarcely  any  one 

That  saw  a  score  of  years, 
They  to  perish,  while  this  ghoul 

Looked  on  with  monkey  leers : 
As  it  were  a  glorious  thing 

Their  budding  lives  to  give, 
So  he  won  a  Victory 

And  slobbering  to  live! 
Young  lives  just  a  blossoming 

In  this  grand  world  of  ours, 
Lips  just  tasting  joys  of  Earth, 

Beauty,  music,  flowers ; 
Hopes  of   future   happiness 

Of  joy,  of  love,  of  glee, 
All  destroy  and  all  made  void 

That  this  monstrosity 
Should  have  larger  kingdom  then 

Honor,  pomp  praise,  renown, 
All  to  please  the  fancies  of  Idiotic  Clown ; 

That  he  may  wear  more  ribbons, 
And  more  iron  crosses, 

What  to  him  the  ghastly  price — 
Simply  boorish  losses ! 

They  are  only  cannon  fodder 
Feeding  a  mad  desire, 

Half  a  million  Germans  mangled — 
Crushed  and  buried  in  the  mire. 

"Paris !  yes,  to  Paris,  Onward ! 

Where  Grand  Dad  went  before 
In  Versailles  to  see  the  sight 

My  Papa  saw  before ! 
96 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

France,  and  England,  Italy 

With  supplicating  knee 
To  you,  Papa,  and  Myself, 

Kneel  to  Our  Majesty. 
Surely  half  a  million  men 

Only  a  paltry  price, 
That  would  win  us  such  renown 

Cheap,  if  it  cost  us  thrice. 
What  is  half  a  million  men 

In  counting  what  we  gain  ? 
See  the  whole  world  at  our  feet 

Just  us,  The  Two,  to  reign — 
France's  holdings,  England's  gold 

And  her  vast  Possessions — 
Then,  America  shall  pay 

For  her  past  transgressions ! 
Papa,  half  a  million  lives 

That  is  all  I'm  asking, 
For  a  half  a  million  Deaths 

We  in  Glory  Basking ! 
Papa,  give  the  quick  command 

To  vassal  Vons  around ! 
Surely  in  three  weeks  our  ears 

Then  shall  hear  magic  sound 
The  Bells  of  Paris  Ringing 

Her  people  crushed  and  torn — 
We  on  point  of  swords  and  spear 

Unto  Versailles  be  borne ! 
Not  o'er  Germany  alone 

Then  shall  be  our  crowning 
Europe,  Asia,  Africa, 

Shudder  at  our  frowning. 
Nations  send  Ambassadors 

Humble  in  their  kneeling 
97 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Then  United  States  shall  be 

In  wild  terror  reeling — 
You  will  stand  no  nonsense  then, 

Her  braggadocio  lost, 
In  our  German  coffers 

The  Gold  Our  War  has  cost. 
And  remember,  Papa,  too, 

That  you  have  still  five  sons — 
Every  one  must  have  a  throne — 

For  mine  alone  the  Huns. 
You  have  shielded  Brothers  well 

The  five  with  matchless  care, 
In  this  warring  battle  hell 

Not  one  has  lost  a  hair. 
Of  the  Conquerors  of  Earth 

That  ever  warred  before 
None  shall  match  thy  Grandeur  then 

None  Greater  ever  more ! 
For  this,  Papa,  let  me  slay 

Just  half  a  million  men 
Then  as  sure  as  Odin's  God 

We  shall  Our  Glory  win !" 
Papa  shook  his  withered  hand 

And  all  the  Vons  obeyed, 
Half  a  Million  German  men 

Butchered !  in  mire  graves  laid ! 
Prince  of  Idiots  never  went 

Across  old  Verdun's  place. 
Verdun  was  his  branding  shame 

Defeat,  contempt,  Disgrace! 
Even  now  his  one  regret 

That  the  whole  German  Race 
There  to  slay,  if  he  could  get 

Beneath  the  Sun  High  Place. 
98 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

LAURA 

Loving,  tender,  gentle,  kind, 
Where  could  I  in  womankind 
Find  one  better  to  my  ways ; 
Now  companion  of  long  days 
When  hot-headed,  without  sense, 
Aiming  to  a  high  pretense, 
All  unwitting — Treasure  trove 
Came  to  me  in  Girlish  love. 

Life  was  oft  a  weary  way, 
Sorrow,  mishap  day  by  day, 
Gloomy  prospect,  oft  times  I 
Walked  beneath  gray,  sodden  sky, 
Moody,  fretful,  sick  of  frame, 
But  she  ever  was  the  same — 
Helpful,  comrade,  ne'er  did  miss 
Words  of  comfort,  cheer  and  kiss, 
Til  the  skies  turned  tender  blue, 
Cares  had  dwindled  to  the  few, 
And  good  days  of  homely  cheer 
Robbed  the  dreamer  of  his  fear ; 
And  together,  down  the  place 
Where  the  flowers,  sweet  of  face, 
Nodded  to  us  as  we  went, 
Whispered  to  us  as  we  went, 
Down  the  aisle  of  sweet  content, 
(With  us  "Pierced  Feet"  all  the  way 
Bread  and  kisses  gave  each  day,) 
So  you  see  This  once  girl  sent 
By  Good  Providence  to  be 
Comrade — comforter  to  me. 


99 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 
THE  DEATH  ANGEL  PASSETH  BY 

I  am  safe  within  the  dwelling 

By  the  hand  of  Love  shut  in, 
Lo,  the  Life  Blood  on  the  doorpost — 

The  Life  Blood  that  pardons  Sin! 
The  Death  Angel  shall  not  enter — 

Saved  not  for  the  good  in  me, 
He  will  see  upon  the  doorpost 

Life  Blood  shed  on  Calvary ! 
I  am  safe  within  the  dwelling, 

I  shall  hear  Death's  wings  pass  by ; 
Hear  from  dwellings  where  no  bloodshed 

An  exceeding  bitter  cry ; 
For  they  heeded  not  the  warning, 

"Sprinkle  life  blood  on  the  door'' 
But  they  listen  with  proud  scorning; 

Alas,  soon  did  they  deplore, 
For  Death  Angel  seeing  no  blood 

On  the  door  posts  entered  in ; 
And  too  late  men  heard  the  crying 

Of  Despisers  of  such  sin. 
Is  there  Blood  upon  thy  door  posts, 

The  shed  Blood  of  Calvary? 
For  Death  Angel  only  spareth 

When  the  Life's  Blood  he  shall  see. 

WAITING— WATCHING 

Are  you  waiting  for  the  Bridegroom — 
Are  you  watching  for  The  King — 
Are  you  listening  in  the  night  gloom 
For  The  Trumpet  note  to  Ring? 
Are  you  watching  for  Beloved — 
100 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCIJ;  T 

For  the  Coming  of  His  Feet — 

Are  you  listening  morn  and  evening 

For  The  Footsteps  on  the  street? 

Are  you  waiting,  are  you  watching, 
So  there  will  be  no  surprise 
Should  His  Coming  be  more  sudden 
So  make  glad  the  peering  eyes — 
Are  you  waiting,  are  you  watching, 
As  the  Promised  signs  unfold 
Which  would  herald  His  appearing 
For  the  tokens  He  foretold ; 
Are  you  watching,  are  you  waiting, 
For  the  trumpet  call — the  Word 
Which  will  call  you  to  the  presence 
Of  our  Glorious  Coming  Lord? 


A  ROYAL  FRIEND 

How  sweet  it  is  to  go  to  Him, 

I,  sinful  worm  of  clay — 
He  wears  Creation's  Diadem 

Lo,  myriads  hosts  obey. 
All  stained  with  Sin,  from  sinful  way 

I  feel  like  traitor  led, 
But  Pierced  Hand  stretched  out  to  stay, 

No  poignant  word  be  said. 
And  ever  ready  He  to  hear 

Confession  of  my  sin — 
When  oft  times  I  impressed  to  fear 

He  would  not  take  me  in. 
So  oft  times  sorrowing,  for  I 

Feel  I  have  wronged  Him  so, 
101 


SONGS  FROM  'A  'WATCH  TOWER 

Alas,  if  He  should  e'er  deny 

To  whom  else  could  I  go? 
Not  to  the  dearest  friend  on  Earth 

Could  of  my  sins  confess, 
Without  Him  I  in  direst  dearth, 

No  human  soul  could  bless. 
So  constantly  I  go  to  meet 

The  One  who  Died  to  win, 
He  standing  at  The  Mercy  Seat — 

I  there  confess  my  sin; 
And  then  sense  of  Communion  sweet 

Seems  music  to  my  brain, 
I  feel  I've  kissed  the  Pierced  Feet 

And  cannot  sin  again. 
Alas,  to  fail — so  day  by  day 

Seek  Him  with  earnestness, 
Tell  Him  how  often  I  betray — 

But  that  His  love  can  bless. 


JEHOVAH'S  "LITTLE  MOMENT" 

Jehovah's  moments — what  are  they — 
What  is  the  meaning  such  words  say — 
To  grasp  such  surely  staggers  sense 
So  vast,  so  glorious,  so  immense. 

Tho'  I  have  read  words  o'er  and  o'er 
I  never  felt  their  sense  before, 
Lo,  a  new  light  has  dawned  on  me 
As  what  Jehovah's  moments  be! 

O  Israel,  what  Blessings  thine! 
Thy  Future  Glory  on  each  line 
Of  the  Prophetic  Pages  shine, 
Sworn  to  thee  with  The  Oath  Divine. 
102 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

For  if  "small  moment"  smce'tliy  fall— 
The  very  thought  will  mind  enthrall 

When  Christ  returns  to  dwell  with  thee ! 
What  shall  the  countless  ages  be  ? 

Mind  cannot  grasp  how  wide  the  scope 
Surely  but  thine  "The  Golden  Hope," 
The  Words  "small  moment"  do  possess 
Blessings  unknown — aye,  nothing  less. 

If  thy  exile  "short  moment"  be 
Near  reckoned  infinitesimally, 
O  Israel,  Then  Thy  promise  be 
A  Blessing  past  immensity ! 

The  twenty-seven  hundred  years 
Driven  from  The  Land  in  exile  tears 
//  but  a  little  moment,  then 
Must  flash  before  the  eyes  of  men, 
This  reckoning  of  Jehovah  be 
A  number  that  the  eye  may  see 
But  cannot  meaning  comprehend — 
Well  to  exclaim :    "World  without  end !" 

Eighty-five  trillion  years  amount — 
Birth  to  old  age  may  scarcely  count — 
And  this  the  Promise  that  is  given 
By  The  Eternal  One  in  Heaven! 
To  Israel's  Race— "The  Cursed  Jews." 
To  Gentile  Nations  base  refuse — 
Treated  with  hatred  and  with  scorn — 
No  race  that  ever  had  been  born 
Had  promise  given  to  them  like  this, 
Prosperity,  and  Peace,  and  Bliss, 
Shall  follow  Jews  when  Christ  returns. 

Surely  the  thought  within  me  burns — 
Before  this  grandeur,  soul  is  mute, 
Jehovah's  Oath  proclaims  The  Truth. 
103 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 
THE  OATH 

Lo,  Problems  vaster  than  the  human  brain 
Can  comprehend  are  pressing  close  at  hand, 

Evil  and  good — this  fighting  of  the  Twain 
We  scarce  can  grapple  with — Scarce  can  understand. 

Man's  gullibility  of  Wrong  must  fail, 
The  work  of  Evil  shattered  to  its  base, 

'Tis  Heaven  and  Hell  amassing  to  assail 
The  object  of  attainment — Human  Race ! 

Evil  is  now  triumphant  in  the  World, 
And  Righteousness  is  crowded  to  the  wall, 

But  Evil  to  Destruction  shall  be  hurled, 
Yea,  Evil's  Kingdom  stricken — soon  to  fall. 

Lo,  Rich  and  Poor  alike  in  Evil's  claws, 
The  Palace,  Mansion,  Hovel — all  alike, 

And  countless  churches  with  a  loud  applause 
All  venomous  at  Christ  Jehovah  strike. 

Lo,  Trade  and  Commerce  hateful  with  sin's  stench, 
Even  rob  manhood  clad  in  battle  strife, 

Defraud  each  soldier  fighting  in  mud  trench, 
With  shoddy  shoes  and  garments  wreck  young  life. 

When  One  in  High  Place  takes  ignoble  ease, 
While  thousand  Allies  slaughtered  every  day — 

Millions  of  People  suffering  o'er  the  Seas ; 
"Our  Enemy  three  thousand  miles  away!" 

And  where  the  Church  refusing  Evil's  gain  ? 
Professing  Churches  dumb  or  daubing  praise 

If  they  of  Devil's  plumber  can  obtain — 
Boast  they  but  cheat  the  Devil  in  such  ways ! 

Three-fourths  of  all  Earth's  Races  Heathen  still — 
The  Churches  fault !  for  lagging  on  the  way — 

They  did  not  answer  to  the  Master's  Will — 
So  all  unhindered  Evil  won  The  Day ! 

104 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

The  Deity  of  Christ — His  virgin  birth — 
The  Blood  Atonement — and  Christs'  Body  Raised — 

Return  of  Christ — a  Renovated  Earth 
Preached  by  the  Fool — the  Ignorant — the  crazed ! 

The  Holy  Scripture  a  hodge-podge  of  lies 
No  more  inspired  than  Shakespeare  or  Tom  Payne — 

(Oh  Tom,  forgive  me — even  in  your  eyes 
Some  Truth — that  "Modern  Scholars"  all  disdain.) 

Think  Ye,  Jehovah  Blind,  and  Dead,  and  Dumb, 
Taking  an  ease  while  plays  Angelic  band, 

And  never  to  His  notice  there  may  come 
The  sore  distress  now  seen  in  every  land : 

Hath  He  forgot  the  human  He  once  made, 
Careless  of  all  in  poverty  and  pain, 

So  let  The  Few  upon  The  Many  trade, 
Ragged  and  Hungry  children  cry  in  vain : 

The  Human  shall  not  always  be  distressed 
The  Human  shall  not  always  fill  the  grave 

Light,  Peace  and  Plenty  for  the  entire  Race 
Joy,  Smiles,  Health,  Laughter  when  He  comes  to  save. 

With  never  more  the  sin  stamp  on  the  face, 
And  all  Earth's  Races  one  Blest  Family : 

Lo,  such  Jehovah's  Will,  and  His  Desire. 
What  he  desires  will  surely  come  to  pass — 

And  Wickedness  shall  perish  in  His  ire 
Lo,  Evil  shivered  as  a  broken  glass ! 

Lo,  He  hath  spoken  with  Recorded  Oath 
In  Book— The  Hebrew  Book— "Scholars"  Despise— 

(But  to  believe  Oath — ye  are  surely  loath — ) 
In  Living,  Glorious,  Splendor,  the  Oath  lies ! 

His  Hour  is  set — even  to  seconds'  count 
Then  Comes  His  Christ — who  by  His  Word  alone — 

105 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

(Standing  Imperial  on  Olivet's  fair  mount) 
Behold  all  Wickedness  on  Earth  o'erthrown! 

He  asks  no  aid  of  Man — nor  council  yet — 
Man's  wishes,  wills,  desires  are  to  Him  vain — 

From  moment  that  Christ  stands  on  Olivet 
Pure  Righteousness  o'er  all  the  Earth  shall  Bless  and 
Reign. 

A  WISH 

Some  little  song  to  sing 
That  others  will  repeat, 
Some  other  soul  to  bring 
To  fall  down  at  His  feet. 
When  a  great  Sinner — I 
Met  Him  upon  life's  way, 
I  would  have  passed  Him  by 
But  that  He  bade  me  stay; 
Anointed  blinded  eyes, 
Beheld  His  Glorious  face, 
And  felt  with  glad  surprise 
In  soul  His  gift  of  Grace ; 
Revealed  to  me  my  sin — • 
How  vain  works,  prayers,  and  tears, 
No  work  of  mine  could  win 
Pardon  for  wicked  years. 
When  self  I  could  not  save — 
He  sweetly  said  to  me — 
"Behold,  my  life  I  give — 
Thy  sins  all  pardon'd  be ! 
My  Royal  Gift  of  Grace 
Shall  cleanse  thee  from  all  sin; 
Now,  God-ward  turn  thy  face, 
And  my  new  life  begin; 
1 06 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

And  tho'  thy  feet  will  stray, 
Of  me  forgetful  be, 
Yet  ever  open  way 
Back  to  my  Calvary ; 
Not  to  thyself — in  me, 
Thy  whole  Salvation  find, 
For  thou  shalt  never  be 
Out  of  my  heart,  nor  mind; 
I  shall  find  every  sheep 
No  matter  where  they  stray, 
My  love  from  danger  keep 
To  Everlasting  Day." 

TO  N.  N. 

Alone  she  goes  up  an  old  time  quest 
More  precious  far  than  crowns,  and  gems,  and  gold, 
She  seeks  mid  nature's  splendors  in  the  West 
A  priceless  boon — whose  value  is  untold. 

She  goes  not  as  Adventurers  of  eld 
With  swords,  and  clad  in  rings  and  plates  of  steel, 
But  by  the  near  approach  of  Death — compelled 
Death  fain  would  all  life's  glory  from  her  steal. 

So  have  I  looked  my  last  upon  her  face, 
Noted  the  wastings  of  the  brow  and  cheek, 
Heard  the  last  words  from  lips  of  dainty  grace. 
She  ever  more  unto  my  ears  will  speak. 

Nay,  but  I  will  not  linger  on  such  thoughts — 
The  Pacific's  sea  breeze  on  mountain  air 
Will  surely  give  the  priceless  nectar  sought, 
And  bring  her  back  more  winsome  and  more  fair. 

Naught  can  I  do  but  hope  the  sweet  wild  flower, 
The  stately  pine,  the  wooded  breezy  height, 
Will  give  replenishment  to  wasted  power, 

107 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

And  make  her  eyes  flash  with  the  old-time  light. 

Oh,  may  she  find  the  One  she  does  not  seek — 
The  One  who  is  a  stranger  to  her  now — 
The  One  with  nail  prints  in  His  hands  and  feet — 
The  mark  of  thorn  crown  still  upon  His  brow. 

SONG  OF  A  LOITERER 

I  am  a  Loiterer — to  sing 
Of  every  passing,  trifling  thing, 
As  I  go  sauntering  on  life's  ways 
I  fashion  into  rhyming  phrase 
The  thought  that  strays  in  wanton  brain — 
Sing  as  it  were  a  foolish  strain. 

And  what,  you  lift  reproaching  eyes, 
And  say,  "It  is  not  over  wise 
In  this  our  busy — hurrying  days 
To  sing  so  many  careless  lays — 
The  Business  of  The  World  as  spun 
Can't  be  encompassed  by  the  sun, 
And  oft  times  is  the  night  impress'd 
E'er  man  can  find  a  time  of  rest, 
When  business  rushings  all  complete 
Not  scarce  a  mortal  can  you  meet, 
With  time  to  read  a  foolish  song, 
That  you  in  carelessness  prolong 
The  Occident  with  roar  and  rush 
No  time  for  sentimental  mush, 
The  "Wireless,"  telephone  has  set 
A  pace  for  rushing — nor  will  let 
An  idle  moment  to  the  one 
By  whom  success  is  truly  won — 
You  must  be  short,  and  crisp,  and  clear, 
To  catch  the  World's  business  ear ; 
108 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

If  not — most  surely  you  be  toss'd 
As  worthless — and  your  singing  lost." 

Now,  mine  own  pleasure  will  I  choose, 
You  surely  welcome  to  refuse 
To  hear  my  song — to  slight  my  page — 
For  not  alone  for  this  Fast  Age 
My  singing : — Oh,  I  hope  to  see 
Through  ages  of  Eternity 
Some  of  my  songs  be  surely  con'd, 
You  see,  I  sing  for  the  Beyond 
When  man  will  seek  for  God,  not  gold, 
Leisure  and  Pe#ce  their  hours  unfold. 

And  so  in  friendliness,  Good-by, 
I  have  not  asked  you,  Friend,  to  buy ; 
I  have  not  asked  for  you  to  look 
Nor  read  one  page  of  this  my  book ; 
As  I  sing  for  the  coming  days 
I'm  careless  of  your  cash  and  praise. 

THE  GODHEAD  OF  MAN 

They  have  harnessed  the  waves  of  the  ocean, 
They  have  sealed  up  the  rays  of  the  sun, 
They  can  tell  you  of  Earth's  every  motion, 
From  all  planets  their  secrets  have  won. 
The  deeds  they  have  done  more  resplendent 
Than  ever  their  Fathers  conceived, 
Such  success  on  their  efforts  attendant 
That  scarce  hath  the  human  believed. 
Ah,  surely  most  wild  in  their  daring 
They  have  halted  at  nothing — their  race 
For  Impossible  ever  was  faring — 
Will  they  soon  not  bring  God  to  their  face. 
The  heavens  are  swept  with  their  glasses, 
109 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Rare  secrets  revealed  to  their  gaze, 

They  can  tell  from  the  color  of  gases 

Why  the  system  of  Worlds  ablaze. 

They  have  brought  from  the  depths  of  creation 

Its  gases,  its  soils,  and  its  sands ; 

Of  Mars  they  have  made  a  relation 

And  the  core  of  it  now  in  their  hands. 

The  once  perilous  depths  of  the  ocean 

Is  now  but  a  flower  path  to  them, 

That  deep  waters  are  only  a  lotion 

Where  Life  in  Beginnings  doth  swim. 

They  have  gathered  us  bushels  of  radium 

From  the  debris  of  Planets  and  Stars, 

And  the  Heaven  no  longer  be  dumb 

For  their  air-craft  have  landed  on  Mars. 

They  have  dreamer  and  science  in  aiding 
To  build  crafts  to  invade  outer  space, 
For  the  human  is  science  upbraiding 
That  man  cannot  look  square  in  God's  face ! 
They've  discarded  all  Faiths — in  the  seeing 
Will  they  only  believe,  and  disown 
The  Thought  of  One  absolute  Being — 
Hold  as  myth  there's  a  God  on  a  throne ! 
They  believe  it  is  only  degrading 
To  think  of  One  greater  than  man, 
So  they  would  be  Heaven  invading 
The  Cry — "Find  us  a  God  if  you  can." 
Believing  the  World  was  created 
By  a  sort  of  a  dominant  Force, 
But  not  to  a  person  related 
But  a  something  of  whirling  course, 
Creating,  and  spoiling,  and  crushing, 
As  a  child  with  his  mud  pies  may  play, 
no 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Today  a  World  Glorious  is  rushing, 
Tomorrow  it  bursts  to  fire  spray, 
And  the  pieces  are  scattered  on  either 
To  fall  on  the  spheres  as  they  roll — 
In  fact  without  rhyme,  without  meter 
Force  creative,  irresponsible  soul! 

So  thus  of  The  Godhead  assaying 
They  must  surely  delve  up  to  the  Truth, 
And  some  of  them  even  are  braying 
That  the  Heavens  immutably  mute ; 
And  that  Man  was  The  God  of  Creation 
Then  fell  in  forgettable  sleep, 
Forgot  he  had  made  such  inflation 
And  that  Ages  the  secret  did  keep ; 
But  some  day  he  will  wake  from  his  slumbers, 
Recollection  will  flash  on  his  brain, 
And  then  in  cosmological  numbers 
Will  play  at  creation  again ! 
So  Christ  of  the  Christian-God  broken — 
Like  dead  Greek  Gods  put  on  the  shelf — 
Then  brazenly  words  will  be  spoken 
"Let  Man,  as  God,  Worship  Himself." 

THE  VIRGIN  BIRTH 

Were  it  not  fatal  'twould  be  laughable 
To  hear  the  learned  fools  so  wisely  tell, 
"The  Virgin  Birth — surely  impossible-." 
So  learned — yet  listening  to  the  serpent's  hiss 
As  he  by  such  doth  surely  lead  amiss, 
The  human  feet  to  depths  of  the  abyss. 

To  question  God  as  to  creative  power, 
That  He  who  made  the  lofty  Andes  tower, 
in 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Who  shapes  anew  a  continent  in  hour, 
Who  holds  the  seas  as  dew  drop  to  His  hand, 
Who  made  vast  space  that  none  can  understand, 
Who  holds  the  Pleiades  with  an  unseen  hand, 
Who  forms  a  midget — perfect  in  each  nerve 
Minutest  organs — limbs  yet  life  can  serve — 
To  say  to  Him — "Impossible  to  swerve 
In  bringing  forth  from  womb  a  Perfect  Man." 
Without  the  aid  of  man,  "that  nature's  plan" 
Upon  the  God  of  Nature  put  a  ban ! 

Wise  are  ye  all — ye  are  so  erudite 
'Tis  hard  for  God  your  acumen  to  fight ; 
So  God  is  wrong,  and  ye  are  surely  right ; 
Can  ye  explain  a  thousand  things  around 
The  whys  of  light — the  mystery  of  sound — 
Your  learned  guesses  surely  most  profound 
Out  on  ye  all — you  learned,  silly  crew ! 
The  Words  of  Virgin  Birth  most  surely  true 
For  God  the  most  impossible  can  do ! 

Ye  may  be  wise  in  Hebrew,  Latin,  Greek, 
And  in  all  ologies  profoundly  squeak, 
The  Godhead  surely  listen  when  ye  speak, 
Like  puff ed  up  adders  now  the  farce  may  play, 
Bask  in  men's  smiles — but  later  comes  Christ's  Day 
Then  all  your  fine  spun  theories  swept  away. 

THE  WAY  TO  PARADISE 

0  Learned  Scholar,  wondrous  wise, 
Which  is  the  way  to  Paradise  ? 

1  learned  at  my  Mother's  knee 
Of  a  far  distant  Country, 

Where  grief,  and  fears,  were  never  known, 
112 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

And  now  as  I  am  aged  grown, 

Bent  back,  past  labor,  and  dim  eyes, 

I  would  go  to  that  Paradise. 

I  am  so  weary  of  the  Earth, 

I've  tasted  of  its  joys  and  mirth,     . 

In  youth,  in  manhood  'twas  so  sweet, 

But  I — not  ever  much  discreet 

Wasted  my  strength  to  spend  each  day 

The  gold  I  gathered  yesterday ; 

But  wasted  now  my  manhood's  strength, 

And  near  the  grave  have  come  at  length 

And  now  a  weary — fain  would  see 

The  pathway — I  pray  thee  tell  to  me 

For  mists  becloud  my  mind  and  eyes — 

O  scholar,  lead  to  Paradise! 

You  answer:    Old  Age  be  content 
Thankful  for  all  the  days  I  spent 
In  happiness,  in  work,  in  ease, 
In  doing  things  which  once  did  please, 
These  be  my  comforters  as  now 
The  death  dews  gather  on  my  brow, 
The  best  to  hope  a  dreamless  sleep 
Shall  on  the  palsied  senses  creep, 
Life's  gas  to  other  gases  go 
Mingling — nor  of  my  past  to  know — 
My  lime  shall  fructify  the  earth 
From  whence  may  spring  another's  birth ; 
My — I — a  nothing — I  simply  be 
Only  a  past,  nonentity, 
The — I — with  earth  and  gases  mix 
No  Christ  forsooth,  nor  crucifix 
As  talisman  before  mine  eyes, 
There  is  no  Christian  Paradise. 

O  Learned  Scholar,  pray  thee  look 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

In  that  old  tome — my  Mother's  book — 

Oh,  of  thy  learning  I  would  plead, 

Thou  the  originals  can  read, 

Make  plain  the  meaning — is  it  true — 

I  pray,  beseech,  and  beg  of  you ! 

Mine  eyes  so  dim — my  heart  so  cold — 

Is  there  not  in  it  somewhere  told 

A  Sacrifice  for  Human  Sin, 

A  Mediator  for  poor  men, 

The  words :    "He  that  believes  on  Me 

An  Everlasting  Life  shall  see'' 

Oh,  read  for  now  so  dim  mine  eyes — 

Search,  search  for  path  to  Paradise ! 

O  Scholar,  what  that  you  rehearse, 
No  thought  in  Book — nor  in  that  verse — 
Eternal  Life  but  a  surmise — 
'Tis  but  a  tissue  of  what,  lies? 
What,  only  Hebrew  Poetry 
Where  gems  of  fancy  truth  may  be 
To  guide  the  human  on  earth's  path, 
But  that  of  God's  Eternal  wrath — 
Of  butcher  sacrifice  for  sin — 
A  mediator  for  all  men — 
Thought  very  hoary — but  still  lies — • 
These  fables  of  a  Paradise! 

O  wise  professors,  in  our  schools 
In  speaking  such  ye  are  but  fools, 
Your  scientific  theories  be 
More  dark  than  Greek  Philosophy. 

Ah,  to  my  mind  comes  back  once  more 
My  Mother's  words  in  days  of  yore, 
They  strengthen  more  than  earthly  wine — 
Scholar,  I  know  they  are  Divine ! 
114 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

A  Blood  Atonement  Christ  has  made, 

By  Faith  my  sins  were  on  Him  laid, 

And  for  God's  Supper,  lo,  my  dress 

Is  Christ's  exceeding  Righteousness ! 

And  tho'  in  grave  my  body  lies 

At  the  Christ's  call  it  shall  arise 

In  Resurrection  Glory— I 

Shall  see  my  Great  Redeemer  nigh, 

And  with  Him,  through  the  opening  skies, 

Shall  tread  The  Path  to  Paradise. 


GLORY 

Within  my  heart  a  song  of  hope, 

On  lips  a  song  of  cheer. 
Forever  comes  a  wider  scope 

Of  Glory  drawing  near. 
How  can  my  heart  and  lips  be  dumb 

And  silent  without  praise, 
When  He  draws  near,  so  soon  to  come, 

And  bring  me  Glory  Days. 
For  Glory  Days,  O  Glory  Days, 

That  ne'er  will  have  an  end, 
The  Earth  like  sheet  of  glory  blaze 

When  Heavens  to  Earth  descend. 
My  heart  is  like  a  happy  lark 

A  carolling  in  sky, 
For  me  no  more  the  days  are  dark 

For  He  is  drawing  nigh. 
In  a  few  years — a  few  at  most — 

Then  I  shall  see  His  Face, 
And  this  shall  be  my  constant  boast 

A  Sinner  saved  by  Grace. 
115 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

And  so  my  lips  are  carolling 

A  song  of  Glory  Praise, 
He  is  anear,  my  Saviour  King, 

With  Glory  for  all  days. 

THAT  ONE  DAY 

Behold,  we  travel  to  the  light 

The  Glory  of  all  things, 
To  see  with  infinite  delight 

Splendor  of  Prince  of  Kings. 
Who  can  conceive  the  startling  change 

Of  Earth,  on  sea,  and  sky, 
Spread  far  beyond  our  vision's  range 

Vast  cohorts  drawing  nigh. 
O  Olivet,  thou  blessed  place 

Where  first  His  Feet  shall  rest, 
Shall  see  the  Glory  of  His  face 

When  nail  pierced  feet  have  pressed. 
The  Cherubim,  the  Seraphim, 

The  High  Archangels  there, 
The  countless  cohorts  follow  them 

And  fill  the  ether  air. 
That  glistening  floods  of  glory  spread 

Too  bright  for  mortal  eye, 
But,  lo,  the  Resurrected  Dead 

Can  every  thing  decry! 
More  piercing  now  than  eagle's  glance 

To  sweep  far  horizon, 
In  stateliest  order  the  advance 

Of  cavalcades  come  on. 
And  who  is  He  in  Royal  Seat 

Upon  the  sapphire  throne, 
Thunders  and  lightnings  at  His  Feet 
116 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Unique — He  sits  alone! 
The  Living  Creatures  (who  describe?) 

Whose  wings  and  rings  fire  flame, 
Whose  ceaseless  voices  do  ascribe 

The  honors  of  His  name! 
Far  off  on  ether's  fields  they  come 

A  multiplying  Host, 
From  outer  regions,  where  all  dumb, 

From  farthest  distant  post. 
For  now  the  time  Jehovah  set 

To  Glorify  His  Christ, 
The  Hosts  of  Universe  here  met 

To  hold  a  Royal  Tryst. 
Here  shall  The  Church  Triumphant  stand 

In  Resurrection  Birth, 
A  Sanctified — One  single  Band — 

(So  scattered  once  on  Earth.) 
Here  shall  they  see  Their  Crucified 

By  Universe  adored, 
And  every  being  who  denied 

Shall  see  Christ  Rule  restored ; 
Unique,  Alone,  in  splendor  there 

Godhead  in  Flesh  revealed, 
The  mystery  of  Christ  declare — 

No  longer  is  concealed. 
See,  Cohort,  after  cohort  wheels, 

Obedient  to  His  nod, 
Lo,  every  being  in  self  feels 

That  Jesus  Christ  their  God ! 
Lo,  Cohort  after  Cohort  wheels. 

Trail  banners,  at  His  Feet — 
The  loftiest  in  splendor  kneels 

Obediently  complete. 
All  in  that  palpitating  air 
117 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Acknowledge  Christ  their  Lord ! 
For  every  brilliant  creature  there 
Created  by  His  Word. 

GROUND  ARMS 

"Ground  Arms !"  the  belted,  bearded  Captains  shout- 
Then  there  rang  cries — as  from  a  single  mouth — 
Of  fifteen  millions — cries  that  louder  be 
Than  all  their  thunders  of  artillery ; 
Foes  fell  upon  each  other's  necks  and  wept, 
Their  cries  paternal  round  the  world  were  swept — 
And  laughed  the  peoples  of  the  many  lands — 
Wherever  belfry  there  were  eager  hands 
To  clang  the  bells — as  they  would  never  cease — 
For  all  the  world  was  filled  with  blessed  peace ! 

Peace !  'tis  most  blessed — and  we  will  forget 
The  many  millions  massacred  to  death, 
The  many  million  homes  where  never  more 
Be  seen  the  faces  whose  presence  blest  of  yore ; 
A  million  cripple  hobble  down  the  street — 
The  shattered  nerves,  the  blind  ones  whom  we  meet- 
The  countless  derelicts,  the  foeman's  bastard  child- 
Well,  all  such  errors  now  we  cast  aside! 

Sweet  Peace,  Rare  Peace,  ah,  how  we  cling  to  it ! 
Cursed  War,  it  was  a  wild,  delirious  fit 
That  never  on  the  Earth  shall  come  again ! 
Democracy  triumphant — never  more  shall  men 
Allow  such  outrage  on  humanity ! 
The  future  like  an  opulent,  calm  sea, 
Where  roaring  cannon,  flashing  steel  shall  cease — 
"Ah,  by  the  force  of  Arms  we  shall  have  peace!" 

1x8 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Poor  Fools !  all  reckless  still  of  God's  decree — 
They  to  their  own  Christ  bend  the  pliant  knee 
Forgetting  that  Jehovah  rules  on  high: 
They  will  not  have  His  Christ — they  pass  him  by — 
Crowning  The  Christ  they  dream  of  as  their  own — 
And  to  The  One  who  sets  on  heaven's  throne — 
Will  not  submit — nor  of  His  wishes  own! 

Their  cries  go  out  defiantly  and  grim — 

"The  Pallid  Christ!  we  will  have  none  of  Him — 

We  said  it  once — and  now  we  say  again: 

We  will  not  have  this  man  o'er  us  to  reign!" 

A  silent  Heaven !  no  answer  to  their  threat — 
Still  is  the  Heavens  as  if  sullen  death 
Had  crept  like  serpent,  venomous,  slew 
Jehovah  and  His  Son,  The  Christ  of  pallid  hue ! 

But  suddenly  a  Laugh  shall  shake  the  world — 
The  Merciful  Has  laughed — laugh's  thunderbolt  was 
hurled : 

"Behold  on  Zion,  Christ,  my  King,  shall  reign — 
So  all  your  threats  and  boasting  shall  be  vain; 
Now  Kiss  MY  SON,  e'er  yet  His  Angers  rise. 
And  He  shall  come  in  wrath  adown  the  Skies 
So  smite  the  Nations  with  an  iron  rod — 
Then  ye  shall  know  that  CHRIST,  MY  SON,  IS 
GOD!" 

MASTER  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL 

I  know  the  thoughts  of  Christ  are  sweet, 
I  know  the  thoughts  of  Christ  are  rare, 
For  each  thing  we  in  nature  meet 
Is  surely  most  surpassing  fair, 

119 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Behold,  yon  sweep  of  glorious  woods, 
See  autumn  mantle  o'er  them  laid, 
As  if  an  artist  in  rare  moods 
Colors  most  gorgeous,  richest  made: 

And  yet  no  artist's  palette  dare 
To  mix  such  colors  flaringly, 
The  strangest  colors  flaunt  and  flare, 
Splotches  of  splendor  on  each  tree. 

Those  wayside   flowers   from   which   we   shrink 
As  all  unworthy  of  our  gaze, 
Now  who  could  dream  that  God  would  think 
Them  worthy  of  His  thought  and  praise : 

The  wayside  flowers,  examine  them, 
I  dare  you  show  more  dainty  flowers, 
The  making  was  no  passing  whim 
But  challenged  even  Christly  powers. 

And  all  the  creatures  made  from  clay 
From  worm — to  woman — none  so  fair — 
What  glorious  wonders  day  by  day — 
Astonishment  is  everywhere. 

Ah,  would  our  eyes  be  free  of  sin 
The  common  place  would  be  most  fair, 
A  Paradise  to  woo,  to  win, 
The  trails  of  Glory  everywhere. 

The  rocks,  the  stones,  the  soil  of  earth, 
Each  has  strange  beauty  of  its  own, 
Surely  through  Earth  there  is  no  dearth — 
The  Beautiful  is  King  alone ! 

In  all  its  shapes,  in  all  its  sweeps, 
Beauty  with  impress  of  its  hands, 
The  changing  splendor  of  the  Deeps 
Holds  sky,  sea,  earth,  in  golden  bands. 

And  water  in  its  myriad  forms 
For  use,  to  gratify  the  eye, 

120 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

The  rivers,  cataracts,  e'en  storms 
Of  rain  the  senses  gratify. 

If  Beautiful  all  things  He  made 
Tho'  blighted  now  by  Adam's  fall, 
Most  surely  I  am  not  afraid 
That  Christ  more  Beautiful  than  all! 

HARVEST  TIME 

How  wonderful  the  harvest  time 
A  mystery — and  nothing  more — 

It  surely  baffles  human  thought 
How  that  the  Earth  such  wonders  bore. 

Men  cry,  'Tis  nature's  handiwork 
And  all  things  from  its  bounty  springs, 

But  what  inherent  power  hath  it 
To  give  birth  to  such  countless  things. 

We  say  the  sun,  and  rain,  and  air 
Have  wrought  with  it  in  wondrous  toil, 

And  so  producing  give  to  man 
A  glorious  harvesting  of  spoil : 

Have  they  created  fruit  and  grain 
The  things  which  hearts  of  man  delight, 

For  e'er  the  Spring  the  land  was  bare 
And  not  one  green  leaf  to  the  sight ; 

Foolish  to  prate  of  nature's  laws 
Could  bring  such  glory  from  the  land, 

How  blinded — that  ye  cannot  see 
The  Miracles  of  Christly  hand. 

For  Earth,  and  Air,  and  sun,  and  rain, 
Could  not  create  without  His  wish, 

If  yearly  miracle  withheld 
Then  empty  be  the  feeding  dish. 

Out  of  His  treasuries  of  mind 
121 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

What  Gorgeous  Glories  did  Christ  bring 
And,  ah,  the  Glories  man  shall  find 
When  Christ  on  Earth  The  King! 

MANDEL  HALL 

O  Mandel  Hall,  O  Mandel  Hall, 
How  oft  upon  mine  ears  did  fall 
The  sweet  chimes  falling  from  square  tower, 
Oft  surely  in  the  morning  hour 
They  were  a  rapture  to  the  ear, 
As  if  they  from  the  heavenly  sphere 
Came  down  to  bless,  came  down  to  cheer, 
The  weary  souls  of  toiling  men, 
As  if  to  soothe,  as  if  to  win 
All  thought  of  care  that  would  distress, 
And  bring  a  sense  of  happiness ; 
My  soul  grew  mellow  at  the  sound — 
'Twould  seem  as  I  on  holy  ground — 
My  heart  grew  light  as  chimes  did  fall — 

O  Mandel  Hall,  O  Mandel  Hall, 

O  Mandell  Hall— O  Mandell  Hall, 
How  oft  thy  sweet,  blest  chimes  did  fall 
In  springtime  as  I  walked  to  thee, 
When  yet  afar,  their  melody 
By  Zephers  borne  came  sweetly  low, 
Making  my  steps  more  fleet  to  go 
Where  I  could  hear  thy  chimes  more  clear; 
Lo,  as  each  chime  around  me  floats 
As  perfect  pearls  from  angel's  throats, 
Chimes  soothing  as  if  voice  from  heaven 
To  tell  of  many  sins  forgiven. 
Ah,  how  I  wished  to  dwell  a  near 

122 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

So  that  my  longing  ears  would  hear 
The  sweet  tunes  on  my  weary  ear, 
Ears  wearied  from  the  roar  and  din 
Of  hurrying,  gold  hungry  men, 
Who  ears  alert  to  business  cheer — 
And  I  just  wishing,  long  to  hear 
The  sweet  chimes  from  thy  tower  to  fall 
O  Mandel  Hall,  O  Mandel  Hall. 

O  Mandel  Hall,  O  Mandel  Hall, 
When  I  in  Park  would  hear  thee  call 
The  world  around  all  brighter  grew, 
The  trees,  flowers,  shrubs  seemed  dressed  anew 
With  colors  ne'er  so  fair  before — 
It  seemed  as  Nature  had  a  store 
Of  beauty  on  the  world  to  pour, 
And  all  the  grassy  carpet  floor 
Had  daisy,  buttercups  galore, 
And  violets  from  hidden  places 
Look  slyly  out  with  smiling  faces, 
The  waters  laughed,  the  sky  more  blue, 
And  all  because  the  chimes  from  you 
A  Blessing  on  the  Earth  did  fall — 
O  Mandel  Hall,  O  Mandel  Hall. 

O  Mandel  Hall,  O  Mandel  Hall, 
Thy  chimes  were  surely  blessed  Call — 
But,  ah,  when  feet  did  enter  in — 
And  rows,  and  rows  of  women,  men, 
With  faces  bright,  and  brave,  and  strong, 
Such  earnest  seekers  in  that  throng — 
The  Leaders  of  the  Age  to  be ! 
But,  Misere,  O  Domine! 
For  they  had  bent  the  listening  ear 
To  eloquence  from  far  and  near — 
123 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

The  men  of  learning,  wit,  and  brain — 

Who  smote  The  Christ  with  honeyed  phrase, 

Uncrowned  His  Godhead  with  their  praise 

With  dulcet  hiss  they  smote  young  brain — 

And  early  faith  in  Christ  was  slain — 

Instead  of  Faith — the  doubter  came 

Young  minds  felt  as  Sirocco  flame 

Had  shriveled  all  the  hope  that  He 

Died  for  their  Sins  on  Calvary! 

Surely  this  Hall  accursed  spot 

Where  Satan  stood — and  Christ  was  not — 

Then  all  its  Chimes  were  dead  to  me — 

And  like  weird  singers  by  the  Sea 

That  lured  the  sailor  by  their  call — 

Thy  Chimes  accursed,  O  Mandel  Hall ! 

CHICAGO  ART  GALLERY 

In  going  up  the  marble  stair, 
Lo,  in  the  place  of  honor  there 
As  if  at  ease,  in  marble  chair 
Behold — that  Christian  foe — Voltaire ! 

Now  in  that  figure  was  expressed 
An  Aged  man  whose  face  impressed — 
The  slender  frame — the  broad,  full  brow — 
The  graceful  nose — thin  lips  somehow 
Pressed  firmly — as  sunken  in, 
Lips  not  voluptuous  to  win! 
And  the  keen  glancing  of  the  eyes 
A  smile  o'er  features  as  surprise 
Was  at  his  soul — complacency 
That  he  in  Christian  company, 
Who  ne'er  had  thought  to  spit  on  him, 
And  gazers'  faces  were  not  grim 
124 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

In  strong  detesting  of  himself ; 

In  fact  not  on  the  wall  nor  shelf 

A  single  Christian  honored  so. 

Who  up  or  down  the  stairway  go 

Could  see  he  held  an  honored  place, 

And  now  no  object  of  a  sneer — 

The  world  had  changed  indeed,  'twas  clear, 

No  longer  church's  consternation 

In  this  loud  boasting  Christian  Nation. 

In  fact  few  ministers  assail — 
Surely  his  tenets  vapid,  pale, 
Words  he  made  use  of  picturing 
The  Christ — for  now  they've  lost  their  sting 
When  we  his  words  to  such  compare 
Uttered  in  pulpit — college  chair — 
Where  fellows  well  paid — viperous 
Stinging  the  Christ  they  do  discuss 
With  young  men,  ministers  to  be, 
With  polished  phrase  of  treachery. 

Voltaire !    Thy  words  I  understand — 
King,  Nobles,  Priests,  of  Native  land, 
Were  Reprobates  tho'  they  profess'd 
Christ's  name — yet  hypocrites  at  best. 

But  these  sneak  thieves  of  latter  days 
Bespatter  Christ  in  silken  phrase — 
Like  Union  Seminary — take 
The  good  gifts  given  for  the  Christ  sake, 
The  Land,  the  gold  of  early  years 
Christ  consecrated — with  prayers,  tears 
Of  sleeping  Saints — who  gave,  to  see 
Their  gifts  used  by  a  ministry 
Who  preached  Christ's  blood  of  Calvary. 

While  thou,  Voltaire,  outspoken  bold — 
But  these  New  Judases  have  sold 
125 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

The  Christ  for  bit  to  eat  and  wear — 
Stab  Christ  with  seeming  words  sincere — 
Rob  Him  of  decent  birth — and  shame 
Put  on  his,  and  His  Mother's  name — 
Dare  say,  He  was  not  God  Divine — 
Blot  Inspiration  from  each  line 
Of  Blessed  Book — Fierce  Wolves  are  they 
To  make  of  Churchmen  Satan's  prey — 
Fierce  Wolves  who  wear  the  shepherd  dress 
To  slaughter  lambs  who  Christ  profess. 
Ah,  Good  Voltaire,  not  hard  to  seek 
Archbishops,  Bishops,  Pastors  meek, 
Who  wear  the  shepherd  dress — and  slay 
The  flocks  given  to  their  hands  today — 
I'd  surely  rather  take  thy  hand, 
And  by  thy  side  would  rather  stand, 
Than  by  Church  Leaders  who  disgrace 
The  name  of  Christ — spit  in  His  face. 

A  SOLDIER'S  CEMETERY  IN  THE  FOREST 

Last  night  as  I  stood  mid  the  forest  wood — 

It  was  full  of  mystery, 
For  Spirits  did  walk,  and  Spirits  did  talk, 

In  that  lone  cemetery, 
I  know  you  declare  'twas  a  breath  of  air 

That  touched  me  in  my  fright, 
But  Spirits  were  there — my  every  hair 

Stood  taut — at  that  weird  sight. 
Lo,  whispers  I  heard — you  say,  'twas  a  bird 

That  chattered  in  broken  sleep — 
But  the  Visitants  there  had  voices  rare 

Musical,  soft,  but  deep. 

The  stretch  of  the  wood  where  watching  I  stood 

126 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

To  peer  if  a  Hun  in  sight, 
Where  in  tall  tree  shade — our  heroes  were  laid — 

Each  painted  cross  stood  white. 
And  sudden  there  came — from  each  grave  a  flame 

Clear  as  if  light  shone  through, 
Lo,  the  Spirits  of  men  came  to  my  ken — 

But  stalwart  and  brave  to  view. 
Of  earth  light  no  spark — sky,  and  wood  were  dark 

Except  when  a  firefly  came, 
The  Visitants  there  all  ruddy  and  fair 

Seem  clothed  in  soft  white  flame. 
I  heard  not  footfall  for  the  one,  and  all, 

Ne'er  rustled  a  fallen  leaf, 
Lo,  no  face  was  sad — all  quietly  glad — 

With  never  a  tinge  of  grief. 
No  sorrow  had  bowed ;  a  very  mixed  crowd 

Americans,  English,  French, 
The  dark  and  the  white — there  stood  mixed  that  night 

As  they  oft  stood  in  one  trench. 
But  no  Babel  was  there,  each  word  rang  clear, 

The  language  I  did  not  know — 
Every  word  seemed  a  musical  chord 

Not  known  on  this  sphere  below. 
As  a  band  came  anear — I  shook  with  fear 

For  I  stood  where  they  should  go — 
Lo,  none  backward  shrank — nor  a  broken  rank — 

Through  me,  Spirits  passed  to  and  fro. 
When  they  had  passed  by — I  saw  that,  one  eye 

Steadily  questioning  me, 
I  knew  him  before  in  the  days  of  yore — 

Voice  known — face  glad  to  see — 
"Ho !  you  in  sooth !" 

"Ho,  My  Comrades,  Salute, 

Lo,  brave  man  once  comrade  mine !" 
127 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Attention  all  stood  as  brave  soldiers  should 

Hand  to  chapeau  all  the  line. 
"Comrade !"  he  cried,  "not  in  vain  have  we  died, 

And  know  this,  because  'tis  true, 
Lo,  an  Angel  Host,  stands  now  at  each  post 

And  now  are  fighting  for  you, 
Lo,  The  High  One's  hands  now  over  our  Lands 

And  His  Angels  fight  for  you — 
The  foes  may  assail,  they  shall  not  prevail 

No  matter  what  Huns  may  do, 
For  the  Hunnish  host  that  you  hate  the  most 

Is  led  by  the  Evil  One, 

So  far  shall  they  go — then  God  strikes  the  blow- 
Final  Victory  never  won. 
The  Christ  they  denied,  God's  Book  cast  aside, 

Denied  Christ,  He  was  not  God — 
Lo !  The  High  One  not  slack — on  Hunnish  Back 

Shall  be  laid  His  iron  rod. 
Like  a  bubble  burst — Huns  now  stand  accursed 

At  the  bar  of  Kim  on  high, 
Whoe'er  hath  denied,  thus  cast  Christ  aside 

That  Man,  That  Nation  shall  die !" 

THE  MEN  AT  THE  GUNS 

It  was  "whistling  and  whining"  in  the  morning, 
It  was  whistling  and  whining  in  the  night, 
The  intermittent  flashes  sky  adorning — 
And  cruelly  destructive  in  their  flight. 

Men  moved  as  automatic  in  the  firing, 
Hurling  shafts  of  destruction  with  their  might, 
And  every  move  with  sense  of  mad  desiring 
The  bolts  would  be  destructive  in  their  flight. 

128 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

The  automatons — each  stripped  behind  the  muzzle 
Stifling,  hot  smoke  reeking  all  the  air, 
And  ever  more  the  monster  grim  did  guzzle — 
As  the  monster  of  its  doings  well  aware. 
The  very  earth  below  them  in  a  trembling 
Like  as  heart  all  a  fearing  what  comes  next — 
As  aware  that  battalions  were  assembling 
And  as  to  final  ending  sore  perplexed. 
Lo,  the  intermittent  smoke  puff  high  ascending 
Taking  message  to  The  One  enthroned  on  high 
Like  incense  of  a  prayer  to  One  down  bending 
To  have  pity  on  the  brave  ones  that  would  die. 
As,  the  men  who  fed  the  guns  as  automatic 
Each  his  duty  with  sure  swiftness  was  performed, 
They  were  blind  where  their  message  most  emphatic, 
They  never  saw  the  object  that  they  stormed. 
They  did  not  see  the  cruel  devastation, 
And  the  scattering  of  human  flesh  and  bone, 
They  only  felt  the  throbbing  of  elation 
As  the  ramparts  of  the  foemen  overthrown. 
To  the  monster  that  they  served  gave  an  endearment, 
Gave  a  pet  name,  with  hands  petted  as  if  dear, 
While  with  every  shrieking  shell — was  a  fear  sent 
That  the  pathway  for  the  Infantry  not  clear. 
The  monster  for  an  instant  did  not  stammer 
But  fierce  bellowed  in  its  far  flung  thunder  tone, 
And  surely  was  voracious  in  its  clammor 
For  the  food  which  "grim  Death  was  claiming  for  its 
own. 

Did  men  wonder  what  the  home  folks  were  a  doing — 
If  the  little  ones  were  playing  in  the  street — 
If  the  Sweetheart  another  man  was  wooing — 
Home  folks  afraid  of  casualty's  grim  sheet — 

129 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Were  prayers  from  wife  and  mother  still  ascending 
For  the  loved  one  now  attending  to  the  gun — 
Was  it  all  in  vain  the  weary  knees  were  bending — 
Was  it  God's  Will,  or  the  Devil's,  that  was  done  ? 

But  the  hands  be  not  aweary  in  the  doing, 
With  the  ears  that  were  beating  as  a  drum — 
Ah,  the  monster  for  foul  Death  its  prey  was  wooing — 
While  the  hearts  were  keenly  wishing  peace  would 
come. 

BLESSED  ARE  THE  MEEK 

O  Master,  must  we  then  renounce 
The  Glorious  words  Thou  did'st  pronounce 
When  entering  on  Thy  Great  Career  ? 

For  since  that  hour  it  doth  appear 
They  words  were  phantons  of  the  air, 
And  not  as  facts  known  anywhere. 
What,  words  a  sham  and  a  pretense 
But  spiritual  in  their  sense, 
Juggling  of  words  to  make  believe — 
That  humans  never  should  receive 
As  litteral — a  mirage  fair. 

Said: 

"Blessed  are  The  Meek  for  they 
Shall  Earth  Inherit!" 

To  this  day 

The  meek  has  been  the  strong  man's  prey ; 
O'er  all  the  world,  in  every  state, 
The  same  bald  truth  we  must  relate 
The  Nation,  City,  hamlet,  farm 
Give  answer,  no  meek  free  from  harm — 
The  meek  are  thrust  from  market  place — 
130 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

The  Sharper  laughs  in  meek  man's  face, 
And  from  his  hands,  before  his  eyes, 
Wresting  from  Meek  a  precious  prize. 
Weakness  and  Meekness,  mocked  the  same, 
So  to  be  meek  becomes  a  shame; 
And  when  did  Roman  strength  portray 
One  meek  spot  in  its  iron  sway. 

Christ  came  to  His  own  Race — The  Jews — 
And  they  His  weakness  did  refuse, 
His  claim  to  Kingship  they  denied — 
Mocked  Him  as  Pilate  crucified ! 
They  knew  He  was  of  David's  line — 
To  Him  their  wills  would  not  resign — 
Flouted  His  Words  of  Righteousness. 
Barabbas  was  their  great  Ideal ! 
His  daring  courage  did  appeal 
Against  the  cruel  Roman  power. 
Yet  had  Jews  listened  in  that  hour, 
Feeling  heart-sorrow  for  all  sin, 
They  quickly  could  His  succor  win. 
He  would  have  taken  David's  throne, 
And  all  the  world  His  sway  should  own. 

"His  Cowardice  did  surely  speak — 
To  f  oeman  turn  the  other  cheek 
So  be  twice  slapped ;  this  Nazarene 
A  paltry  coward  truly  seen. 
And  as  to  Teacher — had  not  they 
Of  Scribe  and  Priest  a  grand  array 
And  all  were  Patriots — fired  at  soul 
To  dash  to  pieces  Rome's  control." 

O  Christ,  The  Truth  is  all  thine  own, 
And  never  from  Thy  lips  have  flown 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

A  word  that  had  not  great  import, 

Yet  men  will  bring  Thee  to  Their  Court ; 

Lo,  of  Thy  words  make  jeer  and  sport, 

"Reign  of  the  Meek  is  not  brought  forth !" 

With  Thee  indeed  is  no  perchance 

For  verily  at  single  glance 

The  Was,  the  Is,  the  Is  to  be ! 

E'er  all  creation  seen  by  Thee — 

And  no  mishap  in  all  thy  plan 

To  make  the  Earth  a  place  for  man, 

Where  Thou,  and  Man,  should  surely  meet 

In  field,  on  sea,  on  busy  street, 

And  this  Thy  Wish,  and  it  shall  be— 

Christ — and  His  choice — Humanity. 

He  never  spake  uncertain  word, 
And  from  His  lips  was  never  heard. 
Aught  but  the  truth ;  tho  parable 
From  His  lips  as  rare  story  fell, 
Behind  each  parable  there  lies 
Not  faintest  trace  of  ought  of  lies, 
His  vast  experience  truth  compact — 
Behind  each  Parable  a  fact. 

Thine  Age !  each  cube  point  of  sea  sand 
A  Year,  an  age — then  thrice  expand — 
They  could  not  total  age  of  Thine — 
Thou  Christ  of  Majesty  Divine! 
Thou  Christ — Incomprehensible — 
No  Angel  can  Thy  Ages  tell — 
Thine  Age! — all  calculation  void — 
Unthinkable,  figures  employed 
Confounded,  and  totals  all  destroyed — 

Ah,  was  He  foiled  in  His  belief  ? 
And  to  this  hour  feels  no  relief 
132 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Whereby  His  promise  could  be  kept, 
After  two  thousand  years  bereft 
Of  any  hope — as  now  we  see 
Malestrom  of  Human  Misery 
Because  The  Strong,  and  not  the  Meek, 
Ruthless  to  work — on  either  cheek 
Humanity  is  marred  and  broken, 
So  that  men  laugh  at  Christ's  words  spoken. 

Who  putteth  on  his  armour — goes 
To  Battle  with  oncoming  foes 
Should  not  of  Coming  Victory  vaunt — 
E'er  he  returns  a  captive  gaunt — 
When  foemen  take  his  armour  off 
It  is  with  sneer,  and  laugh,  and  scoff. 

And  so,  ye  Rebels  of  My  King, 

Shall  in  confusion  surely  bring 

Your  broken  wills,  your  laugh,  your  sneer — 

And  hear  His  judgment  with  fell  fear: 

"The  Foes  who  taunted  yesterday 

Bring  hither  to  my  feet  and  slay!' 

CERTAINTY 

I  see  not  now — but  I  shall  know 

One  sure  and  certain  thing, 
Men's  eyes  shall  surely  here  below 

See  Universal  King : 
A  King  shall  reign  in  Righteousness — 

Who  all  with  Joy  obey — 
Then  hence  my  cry,  "O  Christ  to  Bless 

Make  Thou  no  long  delay  1" 
133 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

MY  FOUNDATION 

I  have  not  built  my  house  on  sands 

Tho'  golden  sands  there  be, 
I  have  not  built  with  greedy  hands 

A  building  fair  to  see ; 
Nor  decked  it  round  with  pleasant  trees, 

And  flowers  of  richest  hue, 
Nor  trees  of  fruit  to  palate  please 

Of  dainties  not  a  few. 
Come  the  harsh  winds — earth's  glories  wilt— 

The  Palace  Storm's  spoil, 
The  Gardens  and  the  Palace  built 

Alas,  on  shallow  soil. 

But  my  house  on  a  solid  rock, 

And  not  the  Builder  I, 
But  guest  in  house  to  stand  the  shock 

When  tempest  rend  the  sky; 
Lo,  Christ !  The  Builder  of  my  house, 

He  laid  foundation  stone, 
So  reck  I  not  if  storms  carouse 

For  He  will  hold  His  own. 

BOUNTIFUL  GIVER 

Christ  is  always  Beautiful, 

He  is  always  sweet, 
And  the  Blessings  He  would  give 

Fullness  to  complete. 
He  hath  golden  plenty, 

He  hath  wealth  in  store, 
So  the  Human  never 

May  in  want  deplore. 
Wide  the  Earth — the  harvest 
134 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Comes  to  sowing  time, 
Lo,  the  Golden  Blessing 

Falls  on  every  clime. 
Tis  His  Wish  the  human 

Have  enough  to  eat, 
Clothes  to  wear — the  home  place — 

Rest  for  toiling  feet. 
But,  alas,  our  Foeman 

Given  wondrous  power, 
Why  it  is  we  know  not — • 

But  in  coming  hour 
He  the  World's  Deceiver, 

Shall  be  bound  in  chains, 
Then  the  World  rejoicing 

Shall  forget  all  pains. 

A  SCORNED  MESSENGER 

I  sing,  the  herald  of  the  Golden  Age  ! 

I  am  no  orator,  scholar,  nor  a  sage, 

Simply  a  singer — but  with  message  sweet — 

Simply  a  singer — that  Thine  ears  would  greet 

With  most  momentous  message  of  The  Age ! 

In  spite  of  The  Usurper's  hate  and  rage, 

And  all  the  venom  that  he  hath  for  man, 

I  would  disclose  to  Thee  The  Glorious  Plan 

Of  God's  Redemption  for  The  World  and  Man! 

When  by   Christ's  words  all  evil   shall   be  crushed, 

And  cry  of  sorrow,  grief,  and  woe  be  hushed, 

And  in  New  Age  by  Christ  be  ushered  in 

A  world  of  splendor  without  curse  of  sin ! 

I  come  a  singing  Herald,  and  my  words 
Be  to  your  ears  the  chattering  of  birds — 
But  take  ye  heed — this  is  no  foolish  theme, 

135 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

No  will-o-wisp,  nor  mocking  of  a  dream — 

But  Truth — and  if  bizarre  unto  your  ears, 

And  you  discard  with  laughter  and  with  sneers 

Because  it  mocks  the  Wisdom  of  the  World, 

Tho'  unbelief  around  your  heart  hath  curled 

In  serpent  coils,  so  shutting  out  The  Truth, 

And  ye  all  heedless,  careless,  filled  in  sooth 

With  care  of  buying,  selling,  making  love, 

Indifferent  to  Him  who  reigns  above, 

Who  in  vast  pity  and  exceeding  grace 

Would  in  His  Christ  reveal  a  Father's  face : 

What  tho'  your  merchandise  of  luring  gain 

Fills  all  the  cranium  of  your  seething  brain, 

And  have  not  room  to  heed  of  words  I  sing, 

Yet  I,  a  paltry  Herald  of  the  King, 

Beseech,  and  warn,  and  earnestly  would  cry, 

The  hour  is  hastening — it  will  soon  be  nigh 

When  voice  of  mercy  shall  indeed  be  closed, 

And  then  who  hath  not  listened — but  opposed 

By  carelessness  shall  surely  outcasts  be 

In  darkness  drear — in  utter  misery — 

Shall  in  the  dungeons  of  keen,  deep  despair 

Hear  that  glad  cry :     "Behold,  the  King  is  Here." 

And  all  the  World  is  changed  by  His  one  Word 

Each  human  heart  then  like  a  singing  bird 

With  one  sweet  note,  forever  caroling, 

The  Praise,  The  Glory  of  our  Lord  Christ  King! 

While  ye,  in  Prison  House,  confess  in  pain, 
'That  paltry  Herald  did  not  sing  in  vain." 

A  STORM  KIN 

Afar,  afar  I  see  the  white  waves  dip, 
As  if  a  thousand  furies  were  let  slip 

136 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

From  narrow  prison  house,  to  onward  sweep 
Out  of  the  bosom  of  the  shrieking  Deep. 

Come  on  wild  waves,  I  feel  we  were  akin 
In  your  tumultuous  and  thunder  din, 
Untrammeled,  free,  unfettered  by  a  hand, 
None  dares  to  hold  thee  in  a  harsh  command. 

My  soul  leaps  up  to  ride  upon  wave  crest, 
Sport  there  in  frenzy  of  some  wild  behest 
To  speed  across  the  World  in  a  flight — 
To  mock  the  day,  and  reckless  of  the  night. 

Surely  my  Fathers  loved  the  rush  of  waves — 
(Tho'  they  be  long  a  slumbering  in  earth's  graves- 
Here  by  the  waters  their  thoughts  crowd  on  me 
Fill  heart  with  cries  of  their 's  exultantly. 

Would  shake  the  flesh  off — naked  spirit  stand 
And  spurning  all  the  beauty  of  the  sand 
Shriek  out  in  laughter,  bound  in  mad  delight, 
Leaping  from  crest  to  crest  in  careless  flight, 
On,  on,  where  hissing  waves  call  out  to  me — 
And  I,  a  fury  in  tumultuous  sea — 
Strange  faces  of  my  kin  bear  company — 
And  all,  all  happy  in  sea  revelry. 

They  loved  the  sea — their  blood  is  in  my  vein 
So  that  the  storm  sea  calleth  not  in  vain — 
In  dreams  of  day  and  night  where  e'er  I  be 
I  hear  Sea  cries — "Come  back,  come  back  to  me." 

Ah,  surely  never  do  I  walk  beside 
The  changing  waters  of  this  inland  tide, 
But  a  wild  longing  doth  possess  my  soul 
The  wish  to  see  Him  who  the  waves  control — 
A  constant  thought — and  not  a  passing  whim — 
Comes  the  great  longing  to  know  more  of  Him. 


137 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

BEAUTY 

Lord  Christ !  Thou  art  most  eBautif ul, 

Most  Perfect — God  Divine — 
Thy  Beauty  scattered  everywhere 

In  circle,  curve,  and  line. 
No  matter  where  I  turn  my  face 

Thy  Graciousness  I  see, 
E'en  in  the  desert — rugged  place — 

Behold  Thy  Majesty. 
No  matter  where  I  turn  my  gaze 

On  tree,  on  bush,  on  flower, 
In  Winter  chill,  in  Summer's  blaze, 

All,  all  formed  by  Thy  power. 
Surely  if  Beauty  thus  displays 

A  perfect  carelessness, 
What  art  Thou  in  Thy  Glorious  ways 

Thy  perfect  Ones  to  bless ! 
Lord  Christ !  I  have  no  words  to  praise — 

Astonishment  is  mine — 
The  piled  up  Beauty  of  Thy  ways 

Fills  soul  as  subtle  wine. 
So  ignorant  a  fool  am  I 

Silence  is  best  for  me, 
In  rapture  watch  in  Earth,  sea,  sky, 

Of  Beauty's  Harmony. 

ON  READING  MR.  MUD 

This  Book  was  written  by  Mr.  Mud 
And  a  very  great  mind  has  he, 

And  so  much  the  worse  for  God  it  is 
That  Mud  and  He  cannot  agree. 

God  said :    "In  our  image  we'll  make  man" 
Lo,  man  perfect  as  man  could  be ! 
138 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

But  Mr.  Mud  shook  his  wise  owl  head — 

"Now  with  God  I  cannot  agree  1" 
For  Mr.  Mud  in  his  heart  aware 

God  could  not  have  fashioned  him, 
He  knew  forefather  was  clad  with  hair, 

And  a  tail  at  the  lower  limb. 
And  Mr.  Mud  knew  his  ancestor 

Was  a  growling  and  filthy  beast, 
Who  washed  not  face — and  caught  the  fleas 

From  the  places  we  talk  of  least. 
And  Mr.  Mud  was  truly  convinced 

His  Grandmother  an  unwashed  thing, 
Who  never  her  clothes  hung  up  to  dry — - 

She  by  tail  from  tall  trees  would  swing. 
And  Mr.  Mud  knew  Grandmother  had 

No  chamber — but  simply  a  lair — 
And  scattered  around  the  broken  bones — 

With  stench  of  decay  in  the  air. 
And  Mr.  Mud  even  oft  times  now 

Clings  to  his  Ancestral  ways 
For  never  from  Earth  he  left  his  eyes 

But  goes  Bibless  all  his  days. 
For  Mr.  Mud  has  a  wise  distaste 

Of  Book  Genesis,  One  and  Two, 
He  saw  that  the  Facts  recorded  there 

With  his  lying  would  never  do. 
As  Mr.  Mud  thinks  Moses  the  Jew 

Of  most  foolish  lies  did  sputter — 
His  Grandmother  never  meat  did  stew 

But  munched  raw  bones  in  the  gutter. 
For  Mr.  Mud  was  dutiful  Son 

Told  how  did  His  Granny  snarl, 
And  drank  of  a  stagnant  pool — not  rain 

For  want  of  a  water  barrel. 
i39 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Yet  Mr.  Mud  be  it  understood 

Is  only  a  mouthpiece  liar, 
Simply  a  conduit  to  pass  along 

The  lies  of  some  one  up  higher! 
But  Mr.  Mud  knew  scholarly  words 

Would  never  the  street  man  find, 
So  he  robed  the  lies  in  simple  words 

To  reach  of  the  humblest  mind. 
O,  Excellent,  Charming  Mr.  Mud, 

Your  name  "mud"  quite  fits  your  lies 
For  muddled  as  mud  your  muddy  brain 

So  the  humblest  Saint  despise! 
And,  dear  Mr.  Mud,  we'll  meet  again 

Before  Christ  on  Great  White  Throne — 
Perchance,  The  King,  will  convince  you  then 

To  Jew  Moses  the  true  facts  known. 

THE  LAST  FARTHING 

We  have  robbed  your  silks  and  satins, 

Your  diamonds  and  your  pearls, 
Have  consecrated  all  your  wives, 

Made  Mothers  of  your  girls. 
We  have  branded  all  your  women 

Shoulder  branded  every  maid 
So  that  when  the  youngsters  coming 

Will  know  'twas  Prussian  made 
We've  sorted  all  your  furniture— 

The  very  best  we  see, 
Have  crated  and  have  sent  them  to 

Thief  House  in  Germany ! 
Dismantled  every  factory — 

Tore  out  machinery, 
So  after  war  to  have  them  hum 
140 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

In  Thief  House  Germany. 
Have  devastated  all  your  land, 

Have  butcher  all  fruit  trees, 
We  have  shot  babies  and  old  men — 

Shot  Priests  when  on  their  knees. 
We've  shot  your  best  and  bravest  men — 

Riddled  Cathedral  Shrines — 
We've  stabled  horses  in  Church  walls, 

And  drank  up  all  your  wines. 
And  we've  collected  penalties 

Until  our  coffers  burst — 
The  plunder  of  your  Belgian  stakes 

Has  gratified  Hun's  lust! 
And  now  'tis  bald  we  scratch  our  pates — 

And  give  our  heartfelt  sob — 
For  we  have  sucked  your  eggshells  white — 

Lo,  nothing  else  to  rob ! 
We've  burned  your  houses,  villages, 

Siezed  feather  beds,  and  clogs — 

Mein  Gott  in  himmel!  we  forget 
That  you  have  left  your  Dogs ! 

Bring  out  all  quick  your  finest  Dogs — 
(Dog  sausage  good  as  hogs) 

By  order  of  The  Highest  One 

'Tis  Death  to  hold  your  Dogs ! 

THE  MOMENTOUS  HOUR ! 

He  goes,  Adventurer,  with  higher  aim 

Than  any  mortal  ever  went  before : 

And  when  the  years  will  bring  the  deadly  shame 

None  will  the  more  than  he  himself  deplore. 

Surely  his  aims  are  cradled  in  high  thought, 
141 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

And  grandly  fair,  and  exquisitely  sweet — 
But  the  Impossible  by  him  not  wrought — 
And  none  so  blind  as  he  in  his  conceit 

He  goeth  forth  a  spokesman  for  the  world 
For  Peace,  a  universal  peace  to  come, 
With  ever  more  the  battle  flags  be  furl'd, 
Silent  the  cannon,  trumpet,  and  war  drum — 

In  all  the  many  ages  of  the  world 
No  man  so  many  millions  holds  inthrall — 
So  when  his  dreams  are  to  destruction  hurl'd 
It  will  be  liken  to  satanic  fall. 

Look  at  The  Blessings  that  his  hand  would  bring ! 
More  than  the  mind  conceiveth  be  the  gifts, 
The  Dove  of  Peace  forever  on  the  wing, 
The  carrion  birds  be  dashed  upon  rock  clif  ts ! 

And  woe  to  him  who  breaks  the  blessed  calm — 
Alas,  that  Force  must  be  The  Prince  of  Peace — 
To  hold  the  Nations  of  the  pine  and  palm, 
Make  them  obey — and  make  their  warring  cease. 

It  shows  that  this  man's  peace  would  soon  be 

broken — 

He  has  not  healed  the  Cancer  men  call — Sin ! 
The  face  be  sweet — and  fairest  words  be  spoken — 
The  vicious  heart  unchanged  remains  within ! 
This  man  that  should  be  wiser  reckons  not 
Of  spark  of  leprosy  in  every  soul — 
In  human — in  most  perfect  is  a  blot 
That  The  Redeemer  can  eradicate — control. 

Full  thirty  years  is  this  man  a  possessor 
Of  One  Infallible — and  truthful  Book, 
And  should  you  ask,  he  would  be  professor 
That  almost  daily  did  in  pages  look — 

And  written  plain — could  not  be  the  plainer 
What  is  The  Plan,  unchangeable,  secure — 

142 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Jehovah  self  shall  be  alone  Retainer 

Of  Human  will,  and  make  His  Peace  endure ! 

How  Blind,  how  Blind;  the  words  are  plainly 

written 

And  simple  worded  so  child  can  understand, 
It  seem  that  Scholars  are  with  blindness  smitten 
As  famine  of  God's  Truth  in  every  land ! 

Democracy  the  will-o'wisp  that's  leading 
The  Nations  on  a  very  wild  goose  chase — 
They  are  enarmoured  of  Satantic  seeding 
That  finally  will  bring,  Destruction  and  Disgrace ! 

O  Great  Adventurer ! — I  am  sorry  for  thee — 
I  deem  in  measure  that  you  will  succeed 
Gaining  for  few  years  a  peace  complacency, 
A  half  way  blessing  it  wil  be  indeed. 

Oh,  that  thy  sight  the  Grander  vision  seeing 
Then  thou  wouldst  speak  as  never  man  before — 
To  all  the  Nations  who  now  seek  new  being 
Who  look  to  thee  to  gracious  peace  restore. 

Lo,  thou  couldst  speak — to  all  the  world  appealing 
Of  One,  The  Christ,  Redeemer  who  will  bring — 
Redemption,  and  Salvation,  and  Sin's  Healing, 
And  Peace,  and  Plenty  to  each  living  thing. 

For  if  the  World  in  Universal  pleading 
Would  ask  The  King  to  come  and  take  Earth's  throne, 
Lo,  He  would  answer  with  a  love  exceeding — 
For  He  can  bring  Peace  Blessings — He  Alone ! 

Times  of  The  Gentiles  rapidly  are  closing, 
The  Jewish  Fig  tree  blossoming  a  pace — 
While  the  Professing  Churches,  nodding,  dozing, 
Lo,  shortening,  rapidly  their  Days  of  Grace — 

So  that  the  Coming  days  thy  greatest  Hour 
The  most  Momentous  in  thy  grand  career 
For  if  you  fail  to  say,  "Imperial  Power 

143 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

In  the  Lord  Christ — who  shortly  will  appear !" 

You  lose  in  silence — Grandeur  Far  Exceeding 
All  Earthly  Honors  and  most  Lofty  Place ; 
And  surely  comes  the  time  thou  shalt  be  needing 
Forgiveness,  when  Christ  and  You  meet  face  to  face ! 

ENGLAND 

England,  my  England,  I  am  proud  of  Thee 
And  thy  Young  Lions  that  thy  breedings  be 
Who  answered  with  alacrity  thy  call 
Giving  flower  of  manhood — so  gave  thee  all. 

O  England,  with  thy  flag  o'er  all  the  Seas, 
Thy  pennants  singing  in  each  Sea  born  breeze, 
Mid  storm  and  stress  for  ever  at  their  post 
Or  surely  now  the  battle  had  been  lost. 

O  Mighty  Lioness — Nations  near  and  far 
Were  glad  to  see  thee  girded  for  the  war, 
With  thy  young  lions,  in  proud  majesty, 
That  Peoples  of  the  Earth  be  ever  free. 

O  England,  now  that  Victory  is  won 
And  golden  years  of  peace  hath  now  begun, 
Wilt  thou  ignore  The  Christ  that  aided  thee, 
Who  gave  The  Allies  such  grand  Victory. 

Surely  Jehovah  girded  thee  in  might 
Gave  thee  brave  Allies,  so  have  won  the  fight, 
Surely  not  theirs  with  thine  the  power  alone — 
The  Fiat  sent  from  The  Eternal  Throne ! 

Thou  now  are  drunken  with  thy  great  success 
Claim  that  the  Coming  years  will  only  bless—- 
And with  lip  service,  Millinery  show, 
Or  veiled  contempt  praise  on  Lord  Christ  bestow. 

Down  on  thy  knees  to  Christ  and  seek  of  Him 
Who  brought  thee  through  the  furnace  fiery,  grim, 

144 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

And  set  thee  on  the  high  place  of  thy  pride — 
O  England,  England,  cast  not  Christ  aside !" 

Now  in  thy  Schools  and  Universities 
Teachers  who  shame  Christ  with  their  specious  pleas, 
Discard  The  Word — distorting  every  line — 
To  make  Christ  only  Man — not  God  Divine. 

Despising  Christ,  O  England,  coming  hour 
The  Christ  insulted,  take  from  thee  Thy  power — 
The  East  wind  shatter  thy  Imperial  fleet — 
And  horror  of  Great  Darkness  curses  City  street. 

Thy  Arms  have  conquered,  and  thy  Armies  hold 
The  Lands  where  Nimrod's  wickedness  of  old 
Held  Heaven  in  Scorn !  lo,  his  idolatry 
A  curse,  a  blight  o'er  all  the  world  we  see. 

One  Beast  has  Lost — more  deadly  One  comes  nigh 
In  Nimrod's  lands — a  magnet  to  the  eye 
Who  shall  be  hailed  by  Humans,  "Earth's  First  born," 
Who  shall  despise  and  hold  up  Christ  to  scorn. 

One  Beast  is  conquered — more  base  in  coming  days 
The  Last  Fell  Beast — win  thee  by  flattering  praise — 
Enticing  wooings — charming  thee  complete — 
Shall  lead  thee  to  destruction  and  defeat. 

Read  thou  The  Book — the  message  is  most  clear 
Tho  now  thy  skies  for  peace  be  fairly  clear 
If  ye  indifferent — at  warnings  sneers — 
The  Christ  in  vengeance  suddenly  appears ! 

To  Christ  art  neither  hot,  nor  cold — supine ! 
Thy  Government  all  careless  what  Divine — 
Pays  each  religion  with  a  careless  hand 
At  home,  afar — pays  priests  in  Heathen  land. 

The  men  you  choose  for  Governmental  rule 
In  foreign,  heathen  lands,  of  varied  school 
Whether  a  Christian  or  an  Infidel — 

145 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

You  little  reck  if  serving  Party  well. 

Budda,  Mohammed,  Zoroaster,  Christ — 
All  treated  equal,  payment  as  sufficed, 
Thy  Latitudinarianism  be 
To  pay  each  God  of  each  locality. 

A  Christian  Nation's  Representative 
In  Heathen  lands,  should  not  be  one  to  give 
The  Lie  to  its  Profession  of  Christ's  Name — 
Such  Nation  brands  itself  with  sin  and  shame. 

Lo,  thou  art  given  now,  Repentant  Time, 
Thy  Character  is  watched  in  every  clime 
As  set  on  pinnacle — the  world's  eyes 
Will  watch  if  you  crown  Christ — or  doth  respise ! 

For  if  His  Word  dishonored  by  lip  praise 
Counted  indeed  the  number  of  Thy  Days : 
For  such  the  Jews  were  driven  from  high  place — 
Even  so  Thou  to  darkness  and  disgrace. 

Thy  Most  Momentous  Hour  now  draweth  nigh, 
Will  you  in  heart  have  Christ — or  will  deny — 
For  Gentile  Power  is  drawing  to  its  close 
Shalt  Thou  be  with  Lord  Christ — or  with  His  foes  ? 

Now  Thou  art  in  the  scales — Jehovah  stands 
And  Weigheth  Thee — the  balance  in  His  hands — 
On  one  side  Christ — with  blessing,  peace  and  fame, 
Rejecting  Christ — dishonor,   ruin,  shame. 

Which  is  it,  England,  Jehovah  pity  Thee 
Open  Thine  eyes  that  Thou  mayest  truly  see — 
With  which,  O  England,  will  you  hold  a  tryst — 
Thou  hast  not  long  to  choose — Satan  or  Christ  ? 


THE  CITY  OF  JEHOVAH 

ffO  City  of  Jehovah  of  Hosts"— 
City  of  Israel's  God, 
146 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Surely  no  City  e'er  before 

Crushed  with  such  iron  rod. 
O  England,  thou  the  instrument — 

With  thee,  Jehovah's  hand, 
Beginning  of  His  Glorious  Plan 

To  bless  His  Promised  Land, 
Surely  "unworth  Thou  to  loose 

The  Latchet  of  His  shoes !" 
Yet  from  all  Nations  of  the  World 

Thou,  England,  did  He  choose. 
Well  may  Thy  Captain  enter  in 

With  warring  geer  aside 
The  City — where  in  Coming  Days 

Jehovah  shall  abide ! 
The  Nations  heard  Deliverance 

Of  Jewish  Ancient  land — 
Alas,  how  few  had  realized 

Act  of  Jehovah's  hand: 
The  world  at  large  as  slumbering 

Of  what  that  hour  had  brought, 
This  place  the  centering  of  delight 

Dear  to  Jehovah's  thought ! 
To  Gentiles  it  is  passing  strange, 

Jehovah's  Love  should  be 
Concentered  in  Jerusalem, 

And  that  bare  country. 
They  point  with  pride  to  Cities  grand 

To  lands  far  stretching  wide — 
But  not  one  is  His  chosen  place 

Where  He  will  yet  abide ! 
The  Why — the  wherefore  none  may  say 

No  human  wisdom  tell, 
It  pleased  Jehovah  self  to  say : 

"In  that  Land  I  will  Dwell!" 
147 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

What  Honor,  Allenby,  was  thine 

As  ne'er  to  man  before, 
That  thou  should  Turkish  Armies  crush, 

And  Jewish  land  restore. 
Lo,  Allenby — by  side  of  thee 

Tho  thou  wert  unaware, 
The  great  Arch  Angel  Michael  Stood 

And  Host  of  Heaven  were  there. 
Before  thy  Host — went  Michael's  Host — 

And  crushed  the  Turkish  hate — 
He  led  thy  host  in  every  way — 

Brought  Thee  to  City  gate — 
And  whisper'd  thee :    "Behold,  The  King, 

In  meek  humility, 
Entered  the  City  Gate  of  old 

On  way  to  Calvary!9 
Surely  Great  Michael  on  this  morn 

Whispered  in  ear  to  Thee, 
"Enter  thou  at  the  City  gate 

In  Sweet  humility." 
O,  Allenby,  the  grandest  wish — 

An  Honor  great  to  thee — 
That  when  The  Great  King  enters  gate 

Thou  by  His  side  shall  be. 
The  Jew  in  blindness  shall  return 

And  make  this  City  fair, 
And  next  to  "Golden  Babylon" 

No  other  one  compare. 
They  in  their  pride  and  insolence 

Shall  boast  of  mighty  wealth — 
Alas,  in  their  most  boasting  hour 

Comes  deadly  Foe  by  stealth. 
The  hatred  of  the  Nations  yet 

Shall  surge  around  the  place, 
148 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

The  Angry  Nations  vaunting  try 

To  slay  all  Jewish  Race. 
And,  lo,  The  City — Land — shall  be 

Again  in  furnace  blast, 
And  there  again  shall  Jewish  Race 

In  Maelstrom  hate  be  cast. 
Yet  when  the  Gentiles  seem  to  win 

Their  Deadly  Victory — 
And  to  the  heart  of  every  Jew 

Most  bitter  hour  will  be — 
In  that  fell  hour  of  keen  distress 

With  not  one  friend  at  hand — 
Behold !  upon  Mount  Olivet 

The  Pierced  Feet  will  stand ! 
That  the  last  hour  of  Gentile  Might, 

The  King  their  power  will  rend, 
And  "in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye" 

The  Gentile  Days  shall  end ! 
Then  Israel  shall  Hosannas  shout 

To  whom  they  crucified, 
With  heartfelt  joy  acknowledge  Him 

Their  fathers  had  denied. 
The  Earth  Renewed — Jerusalem 

City  of  The  Great  King! 
And  every  Nation  on  the  Earth 

To  her  their  tribute  bring. 
Jerusalem  shall  ever  be 

The  Glory  of  The  Earth, 
For,  lo,  The  King,  shall  fill  the  Earth 

With  Plenty,  Peace  an  Mirth. 

CONQUERED  BY  THE  HUN ! 
Conquered  The  Hun !    Lo,  Glory  to  Our  Nation ! 
So  thankful  that  our  Casualties  so  few : 

149 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

The  College  rostrums  ring  with  exaltation — 
The  Pulpits  threw  boquets  to  men  in  pew. 

Our  Country  was  wild  in  jubilation 
Well  they  may  with  such  great  victory ! 

Our  Armies  surely  credit  to  our  Nation — 
Surely  no  braver  Army  could  there  be ! 

But  what  is  this  we  hear  of  Boys  returning 
To  teach  new  lesson  to  The  Church  of  God — 

So  many  Ministers  "have  great  heart  burning" — 
That  Army  would  come  back  with  fiery  rod. 

They    preach,    The    Boys    discovered    Glorious 

Vision ! 
Perchance  sweep  out  all  isms  from  Church  creed 

If  we  hold  certain  theories — then  derision 
"From  the  'Boys'  who  are  sick  and  tired  of  screed!" 

When  the  Preachers  are  asked,  what  are  the  isms 
That  The  Boys  will  ask  Churches  to  disclaim  ? 

Varied  the  answers  as  colors  in  sun's  prisms 
Some  blatant — and  some  have  traces  of  a  shame — 

For  well  they  know  what  views  themselves  dis- 
carding 
So  would  fain  have  such  Fathered  by  the  Boys! 

The  Doctrines  that  they  now  say,  are  retarding 
The  multitudes,  who  scoff  at  their  alloys ! 

So  when  we  ask — what!   Churches  must  surren- 
der— 
They  stammer — misty — general — and  vague — 

Their  voices  grow  pathetic  and  most  tender — 
For  at  heart  they  are  stricken  with  Hun  Plague! 

Hun  Conquered ! — it  were  better  we  were  beaten 
In  market  place,  and  on  the  battle  field, 

For  too  many  of  our  young  men  now  have  eaten 
The  Doctrines  that  can  only  curses  yield ! 

Huns  Conquered  ?    College  Citadels  are  taken — 
150 


SONGS  FROM  A  WATCH  TOWER 

Our  Renegade  False  Teachers — worse  than  Huns — 

For  The  Truths  of  The  Christ  by  them  forsaken— 
Hun's  text  books — are  more  deadly  than  Hun  Guns! 

Those  worse  than  "Huns  are  most  insidious, 
With  crack-men's  rubber  heels  in  noiseless  way — 

Instilling  damn  doctrines  that  are  hideous — 
Like  subtle  tigers  stealing  on  the  prey. 

So  'tis  not  the  Huns  we  fear  cross  the  ocean — 
But  Hun  Scholars  we  honor  in  our  gate — 

So  subtle  in  their  words — like  evil  lotion 
And  America  driving  to  Fell  Fate ! 

The  Doctrines  that  cursed  Prussian  to  Damnation 
The  Doctrines  that  our  colleges  now  teach — 

They  are  going  to  curse  our  own  Great  Nation 
And  have  us  sucking  evil  like  to  leach. 

In  Germany  some  forty  years  of  teaching 
To  make  them  reject  The  Christ — and  God's  Book — 

Such  course,  we  far  upon  our  way  in  reaching — 
Half  our  Pulpits  already  Christ  forsook! 

The  Good  old  Doctrine  Luther  taught  to  people 
Christ's  Redemption  not  by  work,  but  faith  alone !" 

Lo,  the  Cross  stands  not  now  on  Church  Steeple 
As  Blood  Redemption — Atonement  overthrown ! 

Virgin  Birth — Jesus  sinlessness  rejected — 
An  Example,  not  Sacrifice  He  died — 

And  Bible  truth  by  scholars  now  selected — 
In  toto  as  to  Christ — ancient  prophets  lied ! 

So  The  Huns  are  not  conquered — they  are  waiting 
Til  Their  Doctrines  in  U.  S.  hold  the  sway — 

Alas,  then,  their  historians  be  relating — 
Under  God's  curse — America  Hun's  prey! 


151 


ocu  oxac  v  >  iv»il  •.}  Q    3  ^ 

Songs  fron   a  watcn-tc 


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